LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


GERALDINE  FARRAR 


The  Story  of  an  American  Singer 


f9ioto  by  Victor  ffeorg 


GERALDINE  FARRAR 

THE    STORY 
OF  AN  AMERICAN   SINGER 


BY 

HERSELF 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

MDCCCCXVI 


LIBRARY 

.UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFOKNES 
DAVIS 


COPYRIGHT,    1915   AND    1916,    BY   THE   CURTIS   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT,    1916,    BY   GERALDINE    FARRAR-TELLEGEN 


ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


Published  March  iqift 


A  DEDICATION 

IN  offering  these  little  sketches  of  some  of  the  in 
teresting  events  that  have  helped  shape  a  career 
now  fairly  familiar  to  the  general  public,  it  has 
not  been  my  intention  to  weary  the  indulgent 
reader  with  a  lengthy  dissertation  of  literary  pre 
tension,  or  tiresome  data  resulting  from  the  obvi 
ous  and  oft-recurring  "  I." 

From  out  the  storehouse  of  memory,  impres 
sions  crystallized  into  form  without  regard  to 
time  or  place,  and  it  was  more  than  a  passing 
pleasure  to  jot  them  down  at  haphazard;  in  the 
quiet  of  my  library,  on  the  flying  train,  or  again 
beneath  the  witchery  of  California  skies,  I  scrib 
bled  as  the  mood  prompted,  as  I  would  converse 
with  an  interested  and  congenial  listener. 

It  is  not,  perhaps,  a  New  England  character 
istic  to  expand  in  affectionate  eulogy  for  the  sat 
isfaction  of  a  curious  public,  but  the  threads  of 
these  recollections  are  so  closely  interwoven  with 
maternal  love  and  devotion,  that  this  volume 
would  be  incomplete  without  its  rightful  dedica 
tion  to 

MY  MOTHER 

G.  F. 


CONTENTS 

I.  MY  LIFE  AS  A  CHILD 1 

II.  THE  DRAMATIC  IMPULSE 8 

III.  I  RESOLVE  TO  SING  "CARMEN"      ....  18 

IV.  MY  FIRST  DAYS  IN  MY  DREAM  WORLD      .      .  28 
V.  I  REFUSE  TO  SING  AT  THE  METROPOLITAN        .  36 

VI.  PARIS    .      .      ,      .      *      *      .      .      ...  42 

VII.  GERMANY:  THE  TURNING-POINT       .      *      .      .  50 

VIII.  IMPERIAL  ENCOURAGEMENT.      ...      .      .  59 

IX.  ON  TOUR;  MONTE  CARLO  AND  STOCKHOLM       .  68 

X.  MY  FOURTH  SEASON 77 

XL  LEAVING  BERLIN 84 

XII.  MY  FIRST  APPEARANCE  IN  NEW  YORK       .      .  89 

XIII.  MISUNDERSTANDINGS 99 

XIV.  THE  DAYS  I  NOW  ENJOY    ...  .108 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  Columbia  "  (From  a  photograph  by  Ira  L.  Hill) 

Jacket  illustration 

Geraldine  Farrar  (From  a  recent  photograph  by  Victor 
Georg)      .      .      *  r   .  '    .      .      .      .      .  Frontispiece 

Miss  Farrar  as  a  Little  Girl  in  Melrose 2 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sydney  D.  Farrar  » 4 

Miss  Farrar  and  her  First  Singing  Teacher,  Mrs.  Long    .      8 
A  Young  Girl  with  a  Phenomenal  Soprano  Voice     .      .    12 

Growing  up 16 

The  Goose  Girl  and  her  Flock     .      .      .      .      .      .      .22 

Calve  as  "  Carmen "      » 24 

Jean  de  Reszke 26 

Emma  Thursby .      .      .      .28 

Melba  as  "Marguerite" 30 

Miss  Farrar  and  her  Mother 32 

Dr.  Holbrook  Curtis      .........    36 

Maurice  Grau         .      . 38 

Five  Well-known  Parts        .      ,      .      .      -.'-.    .      .      .    42 

Camille  Saint-Saens      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .46 

" I  spent  the  Summer  in  Brittany"  .      .      .      .      .      .50 

The  Royal  Opera  House,  Berlin       *      .      .      .      .      .52 

The  Kaiser       .  :   «      .      .      .      .'     .     v     ...    54 

"My  Third  Season  opened  in  '  Traviata'  "  .      .      .      .56 

ix 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


At  Frau  von  Rath's 60 

Lilli  Lehmann 62 

The  Crown  Prince  of  Germany 64 

Cecile,  Crown  Princess  of  Germany,  and  her  Children      .    66 

Massenet 68 

Marconi 70 

Caruso 72 

King  Oscar  of  Sweden 74 

"Sans  Gene"  .x    ,      /    .      .      .     '.      .      /     .      .    80 

"LaTosca" ,     ^_ ...    82 

Wolf-Ferrari    .      ...      .      .      f      .t   ,.      .      .    84 

Leaving  Berlin        »      .      .      .      .      .      .      •      .      .86 

Mark  Twain *      .      -    90 

"  Madame  Butterfly " >      .    92 

David  Belasco .94 

Sarah  Bernhardt 96 

"AsPretty  a  Flock  of  Birds  as  one  could  find"    ...  100 

As  the  Goose  Girl  in  tf Kb'nigskinder" 102 

Kate  Douglas  Wiggin 104 

Miss  Farrar  and  Caruso  in  "Julian" 106 

As  "Carmen" 108 

Work  and  play  in  California 110 

Making  New  Friends  in  the  Movies 112 

Miss  Farrar  and  Mr.  Tellegen  (Photograph  Reproduced  by 
courtesy  of  the  International  Film  Service,  inc.)    ,          .114 


GERALDINE  FARRAR 


The  Story  of  an  American  Singer 


GERALDINE  FARRAR 

THE  STORY  OF  AN  AMERICAN  SINGER 
CHAPTER  I 

MY  LIFE  AS  A  CHILD 

I  BELIEVE  that  a  benevolent  Fate  has  had  watch 
over  me.  Some  have  called  it  luck;  some  have 
spoken  of  the  hard  work  and  the  many  years  of 
study;  others  have  cited  my  career  as  an  instance 
of  American  pluck  and  perseverance.  But  deep 
down  in  my  heart  I  feel  much  has  been  directed  by 
Fate.  This  God-sent  gift  of  song  was  bestowed 
upon  me  for  some  purpose,  I  know  not  what.  It 
may  fail  me  to-morrow,  to-night;  at  any  moment 
something  may  mar  the  delicate  instrument,  and 
then  all  the  perseverance,  pluck,  study,  and  luck  in 
the  world  will  not  restore  it  to  me.  If  early  in  life 
I  dimly  sensed  this  insecurity,  yet  always  have  I 
gone  onward  and  onward,  eager  for  that  which 
Fate  had  in  store  for  me,  and  accepting  gladly  those 
rewards  and  opportunities  which  in  the  course  of 
my  career  have  been  popularly  referred  to  as 
"Farrar'sluck." 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


Yet  do  not  think  that  I  waited  in  idleness  to  see 
what  Fate  would  bring.  From  the  days  of  my 
earliest  recollection  I  have  labored  unceasingly  to 
attain  the  goal  which  I  believed  and  hope  Destiny 
had  marked  out  for  me.  My  mother  tells  me  that 
before  I  was  five  I  had  already  shown  strong  musi 
cal  tendencies.  By  the  time  I  was  ten  I  had  visions 
of  studying  abroad.  At  the  age  of  twelve  I  had 
heard  the  music  of  almost  the  entire  grand  opera 
repertoire.  By  the  time  I  was  sixteen  I  was  study 
ing  in  Paris. 

My  earliest  memories  take  me  back  to  my  home 
town,  Melrose,  Massachusetts,  a  small  but  very 
attractive  city  not  far  from  Boston.  I  can  recall  a 
large  room  with  an  open  fireplace  and  flames  flash 
ing  from  a  log  fire  into  which  I  spent  many  hours 
gazing,  trying  to  conjure  up  strange  and  fanciful 
shapes  and  figures.  From  the  fireplace,  so  my 
mother  tells  me,  I  would  stroll  to  the  great,  old- 
fashioned  square  piano  in  the  corner,  and,  stand 
ing  on  tiptoe,  would  strum  upon  the  keys.  I  sup 
pose  I  was  two  or  three  years  old  at  the  time,  yet  it 
seems  to  me  that  I  was  striving  to  give  expression 
musically  to  the  strange  shapes  and  figures  sug 
gested  by  the  fire  and  by  my  vivid  imagination. 

Hereditary  influences  must  have  helped  to  shape 


A   LITTLE   GIRL  IN  MELROSE 


MY    LIFE    AS    A    CHILD 


my  musical  career.  My  mother  and  father  both 
sang  in  the  First  Universalist  Church  of  Melrose. 
Mother's  father,  Dennis  Barnes,  of  Melrose,  had 
been  a  musician,  and  had  organized  a  little  orches 
tra  which  played  on  special  occasions.  He  gave 
violin  lessons  and  composed,  and  there  is  a  tradi 
tion  that  in  his  boyhood  days  he  learned  to  play  the 
violin  from  an  Italian  fiddler,  and  afterward  con 
structed  his  own  instrument,  pulling  hairs  from  the 
tail  of  an  old  white  horse  to  make  the  bow. 

My  father,  Sydney  D.  Farrar,  owned  a  store  in 
Melrose  when  I  was  born.  In  the  summer  time  he 
played  baseball  with  a  local  amateur  team  with 
such  success  that,  when  I  was  two  years  old,  he  was 
engaged  by  the  Philadelphia  National  League  Base 
ball  Club  as  first  baseman.  He  was  a  professional 
ball-player  with  the  Philadelphia  team  for  several 
years.  Yet  during  the  winters  he  was  always  in 
Melrose,  looking  after  business.  Both  he  and  my 
mother  were  very  fond  of  music,  singing  every  week 
in  the  church  quartet  and  sometimes  at  concerts. 

The  house  in  which  I  was  born  is  still  standing, 
a  large,  old-fashioned  building  on  Mount  Vernon 
Street,  Melrose,  which  my  father  rented  from  the 
Houghton  estate.  It  is  next  door  to  the  Blake 
house,  a  well-known  local  landmark.  Most  of  my 

3 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


early  life  was  spent  in  this  house,  although  sub 
sequently  we  moved  twice  to  occupy  other  houses 
in  the  neighborhood. 

My  mother  says  that  I  was  a  happy  baby,  croon 
ing  and  humming  to  myself,  singing  when  other 
babies  usually  cry.  She  says  that  the  familiar  airs 
of  the  barrel  organs,  which  were  played  in  the 
street  every  day,  were  all  added  to  my  repertoire  in 
due  time,  correct  as  to  melody,  although  I  was  too 
young  to  enunciate  properly.  My  mother  did  not 
think  it  out  of  the  ordinary  for  her  baby  to  be  so 
musically  inclined,  young  as  I  was.  I  was  her  first 
and  only  child. 

When  I  was  three  years  old  I  sang  in  my  first 
church  concert.  My  childish  voice  rose  up  bravely; 
and  my  mother  distinctly  remembers  that  I  had 
perfect  self-possession  and  never  showed  the  slight 
est  sign  of  stage  fright.  When  my  song  was  fin 
ished,  and  the  kind  applause  had  subsided,  I 
stepped  to  the  edge  of  the  platform  and  spoke  to 
her  down  in  the  front  row. 

"Did  I  do  it  well,  mamma?"  I  asked,  not  at  all 
disconcerted  while  every  one  laughed. 

I  cannot  remember  the  time  when  I  did  not  in 
tend  to  sing  and  act.  As  soon  as  I  was  a  little  older 
it  was  decided  that  I  should  take  piano  lessons. 
4 


MY    LIFE    AS    A    CHILD 


But  at  once  I  made  strenuous  objection  to  the 
necessary  restraint,  an  objection  which  in  after 
years  manifested  itself  in  much  that  I  attempted. 
I  could  not  force  myself  to  study  according  to  rule 
or  tradition.  I  wanted  to  try  out  things  my  own 
way,  according  to  impulse,  just  when  and  how  the 
spirit  within  me  moved.  I  could  not  drudge  at 
scales,  and  therefore  found  the  lessons  irksome. 
I  preferred  to  improvise  upon  the  piano,  and  I  had 
a  strange  fondness  for  playing  everything  upon  the 
black  keys. 

"Why  do  you  use  only  the  black  keys?"  my 
mother  asked  me  once. 

"Because  the  white  keys  seem  like  angels  and 
the  black  keys  like  devils,  and  I  like  devils  best," 
I  replied.  It  was  the  soft  half-tones  of  the  black 
keys  which  fascinated  me,  and  to  this  day  I  prefer 
their  sensuous  harmony  to  that  of  the  more  brilliant 
"angels." 

My  mother  offered  me  a  tricycle  —  one  of  those 
weird  three-wheeled  vehicles  in  vogue  at  the  time 
—  if  I  would  learn  my  piano  lessons  according  to 
rule;  but  I  had  all  too  little  patience  and  my  father 
gave  me  the  tricycle  anyhow,  as  well  as  a  pony 
later.  These  were  some  of  my  few  amusements. 
In  fact,  I  cared  little  for  child's  play  at  any  time  in 

5 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


my  early  youth,  and  nothing  for  outdoor  sports.  I 
spent  most  of  my  time  with  books  and  music,  or 
playing  with  animals. 

Among  my  animal  friends  was  a  large  Newfound 
land  dog.  One  day  my  mother  came  into  the  back 
yard  and  found  me  trying  to  make  him  act  as  a 
horse,  attached  by  a  rough  harness  to  an  impro 
vised  plough  I  had  made  of  wood  to  dig  up  the 
back  garden.  I  loved  dogs,  and  once  my  mother  had 
me  photographed  seated  on  a  large  painted  wooden 
dog. 

Another  childish  amusement  was  to  put  fantastic 
costumes  on  the  cats  and  pretend  that  they  were 
actors  or  actresses.  In  time  there  were  added  to  the 
cats  and  dog  a  chameleon,  a  pair  of  small  alligators, 
guinea-pigs,  rabbits,  a  bullfinch,  and  a  robin  with  a 
broken  wing.  I  was  passionately  fond  of  flowers  as 
well,  and  my  own  small  garden  was  a  source  of 
pride  and  pleasure. 

The  world  of  make-believe  was  becoming  very 
real  to  me  by  this  time.  I  dramatized  everything.  I 
had  the  utmost  confidence  in  my  choice  to  become 
a  great  singer,  for  at  all  times  I  was  busy  with 
music,  either  alone  or  with  my  mother.  It  did  not 
occur  to  me  that  I  could  possibly  fail  in  achieving 
my  object,  and  yet  I  was  so  sincere  and  felt  so 
6 


MY    LIFE    AS    A    CHILD 


impelled  to  try  to  "touch  the  stars"  that  I  do  not 
believe  it  could  be  called  conceit.  Young  as  I  was, 
I  felt  that  with  my  song  I  could  soar  to  another 
world  and  revel  in  poetry  and  music. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  DRAMATIC  IMPULSE 

AT  five  I  was  sent  to  school.  Among  my  teachers 
in  the  Grove  Street  School,  Melrose,  was  Miss  Alice 
Swett,  who  remains  a  dear,  good  friend  to  this  day. 
She  was  ever  kind  and  sympathetic  to  me,  and  I 
always  loved  her,  although  I  was  often  rebellious 
and  unmanageable.  My  own  reckless  nature,  im 
patient  at  restraint,  could  never  endure  the  order 
and  confinement  of  the  classroom. 

The  dynamic  energy,  which  has  suffered  little 
curb  in  the  passing  of  years,  was  even  then  a  char 
acteristic  to  be  reckoned  with;  displays  of  lively 
temper  were  not  infrequent,  but  the  method  of 
punishment  at  an  isolated  desk  in  view  of  the  entire 
class  was  far  too  enjoyable  to  serve  as  a  correction 
for  my  ebullient  spirits  and  was  abruptly  dis 
continued. 

Miss  Swett  was  my  teacher  for  several  years. 
While  her  affection  and  trust  never  wavered,  I 
doubt  if  she  ever  quite  understood  the  harum- 
scarum  girl  in  her  charge. 

Only  the  other  day,  visiting  me  in  my  New  York 
8 


THE    DRAMATIC    IMPULSE 

home  and  commenting  upon  some  unconventional 
act  of  mine,  she  sighed  and  said:  "Geraldine,  where 
are  you  going  to  end  ?" 

"Well,  I  may  brush  the  gallows  in  the  wild  flight 
of  my  career,"  I  replied  laughingly,  "but  I'll  never 
be  really  hanged." 

Those  years  at  the  Grove  Street  School,  when  I 
was  developing  from  childhood  into  young  girlhood, 
were  full  of  excitement,  romance,  and  expectations. 
But  I  looked  upon  them  as  a  trying  period  which 
had  to  be  endured  before  I  could  devote  myself 
entirely  to  my  ambition.  I  was  full  of  both  temper 
and  temperament,  and  an  unlimited  supply  of  high 
spirits  which  manifested  themselves  in  various  un 
usual  ways  —  singing  and  acting,  idealizing  my 
self  as  many  of  the  heroines  whose  gracious  images 
intoxicated  my  imagination.  At  times  I  walked  on 
air,  and  always  my  head  was  filled  with  dreams  and 
hopes  of  this  marvelous  career. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  I  wrote  a  play, "  Rapunzel 
of  the  Golden  Hair,"  based  upon  an  old  fairy  story. 
As  usual  I  wished  always  to  be  the  heroine,  yet 
Fate  had  not  bestowed  the  necessary  golden  locks 
upon  me.  My  dark  hair  was  worn  short,  and  I 
must  have  looked  much  like  an  impish  boy.  Then, 
my  dramatic  vision  had  soulful  eyes  and  an  angelic 

9 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


expression.  But  instead  of  looking  like  an  angel  I 
was  more  like  a  gypsy  at  the  distressing  gosling 
stage,  too  undeveloped;  yet  I  dreamed  of  the  times 
when  I  would  appear  before  immense  audiences  as 
the  beautiful  heroine  of  my  dreams  and  hold  them 
fascinated  by  my  song  and  personality.  I  always 
had  the  utmost  faith  in  a  certain  power  of  mag 
netism;  it  seemed  as  though  from  my  youngest  days 
I  felt  that  I  could  influence  others,  and  often  I  ex 
perimented  just  to  see  what  effects  I  could  produce. 
The  impulse  to  dramatize  everything  found  an 
opportunity,  when  I  was  about  ten  years  old,  in  the 
arrival  in  town  of  the  brother  of  a  girl  friend.  This 
boy,  slightly  older  than  I,  had  been  educated  in 
England  and  had  brought  back  exquisite  manners 
and  an  English  accent  that  greatly  impressed  the 
young  ladies  of  my  class.  I  need  hardly  mention 
the  fact  that  these  attributes  were  looked  upon  with 
contempt  by  the  masculine  element,  who  had  no 
small  measure  of  derision  for  the  youthful  Chester 
field.  I  had  cared  little  for  and  never  encouraged 
boy  sweethearts,  but  this  youngster's  exclusive  ad 
miration  did  arouse  my  interest.  I  felt  flattered  for 
a  short  time.  But  alas!  he  was  unmusical  to  a 
degree,  and  companionship  suddenly  terminated, 
on  my  side,  when  I  found  that  he  was  to  be 

10 


THE    DRAMATIC    IMPULSE 

neither  subjugated  by  my  singing  nor  thrilled  by 
my  acting. 

One  day  I  rebuffed  him  when  he  tried  to  walk 
home  with  me  after  school,  offering  to  carry  my 
books.  Puzzled,  he  made  a  formal  call  on  my 
mother,  doubtless  with  a  view  to  a  reconcili 
ation,  and  asked  permission  to  accompany  me  as 
usual. 

My  mother  laughed  and  told  him  to  ask  me. 

"I  have  asked  Miss  Geraldine,"  he  said  sadly; 
"but  she  does  not  seem  to  care  for  my  attentions." 

A  few  days  later  he  went  skating,  the  ice  broke, 
and  he  was  drowned.  Instantly  I  became  a  widow. 
Drama  —  real  drama  —  had  come  into  my  life,  and 
with  all  the  feeling  of  an  instinctive  actress  I  played 
my  role.  I  dressed  in  black;  abandoned  all  gay- 
eties;  went  to  and  from  school  mopping  my  eyes 
with  a  black-bordered  handkerchief;  and  the  other 
boys  and  girls  stood  aside  in  silence  as  I  passed, 
leaving  me  alone  with  my  grief. 

For  six  weeks  I  played  the  tragedy;  and  then  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  mood,  in  which  I  had 
been  genuinely  serious,  passed  away.  In  life  this 
young  boy  had  meant  absolutely  nothing  to  me;  in 
death  he  became  a  dramatic  possibility  which  I 
utilized  unconsciously  as  an  outlet  for  my  emotion. 

ii 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


I  was  not  pretending;  I  was  terribly  in  earnest.  I 
actually  believed  in  my  grief.  Who  can  say  that  it 
was  "only  acting"? 

A  temper,  which  I  regret  to  confess  time  has  not 
very  much  chastened,  came  to  the  front  in  my 
school  days,  to  the  dismay  of  my  mother.  In  1892, 
when  I  was  ten  years  old,  the  city  of  Melrose  held 
a  carnival  and  celebration  to  commemorate  the  four- 
hundredth  anniversary  of  the  discovery  of  America. 
Floats  were  planned  to  represent  the  thirteen 
original  States.  The  selection  of  the  school  girl  to 
impersonate  Massachusetts  fell  to  my  class  in  the 
Grove  Street  School,  and  I  was  anxious  for  this 
honor,  not  only  because  of  the  personal  glory  and 
prominence,  but  because  I  really  believed  that  I 
could  impersonate  Massachusetts  better  than  any 
other  girl  in  the  class! 

Well,  I  did  appear  as  Massachusetts,  and,  with 
the  other  "twelve  States,"  was  driven  through  the 
streets  of  Melrose,  mounted  on  the  float,  bearing 
the  flag  of  the  nation.  But  two  girls  in  the  school, 
who  had  voted  against  me  in  the  election,  watched 
me  from  afar  with  swollen  and  blackened  eyes;  I 
had  struck  them  in  a  moment  of  quick  anger  be 
cause  their  choice  had  been  against  me. 

The  following  winter,  while  many  of  the  boys  and 

12 


A  YOUNG  GIRL  WITH  A  PHENOMENAL  SOPRANO  VOICE 


'THE    DRAMATIC    IMPULSE 

girls  were  skating,  a  boy  of  twelve  or  thirteen, 
named  Clarence,  annoyed  me  exceedingly  by  trying 
to  trip  me  with  his  hockey  stick.  I  warned  him 
three  times  that  he  "had  better  let  me  alone,"  but 
he  persisted  in  his  persecution.  After  the  third  time, 
I  skated  to  shore,  picked  up  my  umbrella,  carefully 
tore  three  of  the  steel  ribs  from  it  and,  with  these  as 
a  whip,  I  thrashed  Clarence.  Clarence  "sat"  with 
discomfort  for  some  days,  and  I  believe  his  mother 
seriously  contemplated  making  a  police  charge 
against  me  for  beating  him. 

This  temper  —  or  temperament  —  often  found 
expression  at  home  in  moods,  when  for  hours, 
sometimes  days,  I  would  n't  break  silence.  If  any 
one  interfered  with  or  spoke  to  me  during  these 
moments  I  felt  just  as  though  some  one  were  comb 
ing  my  nerves  the  wrong  way  with  a  fine,  grating 
comb.  My  mother  was  wise  enough  to  leave  me 
alone  in  my  intense  irritability  and  depression.  She 
appreciated  the  extremes  of  my  nature,  which  were 
somewhat  like  the  well-known  little  girl  of  our 
childhood  rhymes: 

"  When  she  was  good  she  was  very,  very  good, 
And  when  she  was  bad  she  was  horrid." 

I  fear,  at  times,  I  was  very,  very  horrid.  But  I 
planned  a  danger  signal !  One  day  I  came  home  with 

i3 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


a  pair  of  most  distinctive  black-and-white  checked 
stockings,  the  most  hideous  things  one  can  im 
agine. 

"Mother,"  I  said,  "when  I  wear  these  stockings 
I  want  to  be  let  alone." 

Thus  it  was  an  understood  thing  that  no  one 
should  speak  to  me  or  notice  me  in  the  least  while 
these  horrors  adorned  me.  Perhaps  after  a  few 
hours,  or  a  day,  I  would  go  up  the  back  stairs, 
change  my  stockings  —  and  the  sun  would  shine 
again. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  I  was  the  victim  of  an 
accident  which  resulted  in  a  neat  bit  of  surgery. 
My  mother  and  I  were  spending  a  summer  in  the 
little  village  of  Sandwich,  New  Hampshire.  I  was 
crazy  to  carve  a  small  horse  out  of  wood,  and  went 
down  to  the  woodshed  in  the  rear  of  the  country 
house  where  we  were  staying,  armed  with  a  hatchet 
and  followed  by  an  admiring  youngster  from  the 
village.  The  hatchet  was  very  sharp.  My  expe 
rience  in  carving  wooden  horses  was  limited.  Sud 
denly  the  hatchet  came  down  and  clipped  a  tiny 
bit  off  the  extreme  ends  of  my  left  thumb  and  fore 
finger. 

I  screamed  with  agony  and  cried  in  amazement 
as  the  poor  little  bleeding  tips  of  my  fingers  fell 
i4 


THE    DRAMATIC    IMPULSE 

to  the  floor,  but  the  country  boy,  with  wonderful 
presence  of  mind,  picked  them  up,  and  keeping 
them  warm  in  his  closed  hand,  ran  with  me  at  full 
speed  to  the  nearest  doctor.  Fortunately,  he  hap 
pened  to  be  at  home.  When  the  village  boy  showed 
him  the  wounded  hand  and  the  tiny  bleeding  bits  of 
finger,  he  clamped  them  instantly  on  the  fingers 
where  they  belonged,  put  on  ointments,  and  bound 
them  tight  with  bandages.  This  marvelous  surgery, 
without  a  stitch  being  taken,  actually  was  success 
ful;  the  fingers  healed,  and  now  only  a  slight  scar 
remains. 

I  regret  to  say  that  this  physician,  whose  pres 
ence  of  mind  thus  saved  my  fingers  from  being 
permanently  mutilated,  is  entirely  unknown  to  me 
now.  Some  few  years  ago,  in  Boston,  I  told  this 
story  in  an  interview,  and  a  physician  wrote  me 
from  some  other  city  that  he  was  the  man  who  had 
saved  my  fingers  for  me.  I  wrote  and  thanked  him 
for  his  kindness  toward  a  little  girl;  but  his  letter 
was  mislaid  and  destroyed,  so  that  even  now  I  do 
not  know  his  name.  Wherever  he  is,  however,  he 
will  always  have  my  thanks  and  wannest  admira 
tion. 

Finally,  the  time  came  for  me  to  enter  the  Mel- 
rose  High  School.  I  objected  seriously  to  the 

i5 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


further  routine  of  public  schooling,  as  I  wished  to 
study  only  music.  But  both  my  father  and  mother 
insisted;  so  I  began  the  study  of  languages.  I  was 
intensely  interested  in  mythology,  history,  and 
literature,  but  I  hated  mathematics.  I  always  pre 
ferred  to  count  on  my  fingers  rather  than  to  use  my 
brain  for  such  merely  mechanical  feats  as  adding 
or  multiplying  figures.  In  the  study  of  languages  I 
soon  found  that  my  teachers  were  excellent  gram 
marians,  but  I  pleaded  that  I  wanted  to  learn  to 
talk  and  not  merely  to  conjugate. 

I  took  a  supplementary  course  in  literature,  and 
well  remember  the  most  important  incident  when 
I  competed  for  the  prize.  I  was  quite  sure  my 
essay  would  win.  In  fancy  I  had  already  rehearsed 
the  pretty  speech  in  which  I  should  thank  the  com 
mittee  for  the  honor  conferred  on  me.  But  the  prize 
went  to  some  one  else.  My  anger  was  sudden  and 
hot.  Then  and  there  I  made  up  my  mind  that  if 
ever  I  could  not  be  first  in  what  I  attempted,  I 
would  drop  it  at  once.  I  believed  my  material  was 
best  and  deserved  the  prize,  and  I  was  hurt  at  not 
conquering  before  an  admiring  and  enthusiastic 
audience ! 

Thus  I  early  learned  that  maybe  I  could  not 
always  win,  could  not  always  be  first;  that  perse- 
16 


GROWING  UP 


THE    DRAMATIC    IMPULSE 

verance  must  aid  natural  talents;  and  that  it  is 
cowardly  to  drop  a  thing  when  at  first  you 
don't  succeed.  The  sting  of  adverse  criticism  may 
often  prove  the  best  of  tonics!  I  have  since  found 
it  so. 


CHAPTER  III 

I   RESOLVE  TO   SING   CARMEN 

EACH  spring  in  Melrose  there  was  a  May  Carnival. 
One  of  the  features  of  the  carnival  in  1894,  when  I 
was  twelve  years  old,  was  a  pageant  of  famous 
women  impersonated  by  local  talent.  I  was  selected 
to  represent  Jenny  Lind  and  was  told  by  the  com 
mittee  that  I  must  sing  "Home,  Sweet  Home,"  but 
with  characteristic  disregard  for  the  expected  tra 
dition  I  decided  to  sing  an  aria  in  Italian  first.  The 
prima  donna  of  my  dreams  would  naturally  dazzle 
her  hearers  with  a  selection  in  some  foreign  tongue, 
and  then  graciously  respond  to  the  clamorous  mul 
titude  with  a  simple  ballad. 

I  had  this  stage  effect  quite  planned  in  my  mind. 
I  didn't  know  a  word  of  Italian;  but  studied  one 
song  by  myself  from  "Faust"  —  Siebel's  song 
which  Scalchi  used  to  sing  in  the  old  days  and  one 
seldom  heard  now.  My  Italian  may  have  been  in 
comprehensible  to  a  native,  certainly  it  did  not  dis 
concert  Melrosians;  my  aplomb  was  richly  rewarded 
by  numerous  recalls,  just  as  I  had  dared  to  hope, 
and  "Home,  Sweet  Home"  was  given  with  due 
18 


I     RESOLVE    TO    SING    CARMEN 

seriousness.  I  was  happy  and  excited;  I  was  "ar 
riving"  at  last !  Also  I  wore  my  first  low-neck  dress. 

Incidentally,  this  episode  in  the  Melrose  Town 
Hall  is  made  vivid  in  my  memory  by  two  notable 
happenings.  The  first  is  —  shades  of  vanity!  — 
that  I  wore  a  new  pair  of  perfectly  lovely  shoes  that 
were  too  tight  for  me  (but  looked  so  nice) ;  so,  after 
singing  the  encore,  I  was  obliged  to  retire  behind  a 
stout  lady  on  the  stage  and  take  them  off.  When 
the  carnival  was  over,  I  found  to  my  distress  that  I 
could  not  get  them  on  again,  and  I  walked  home  in 
my  stocking  feet! 

The  second  episode  of  this  day  really  marked  a 
turning  point  in  my  career.  A  friend  who  heard 
me  sing  happened  to  be  a  pupil  of  Mrs.  J.  H.  Long, 
the  best-known  singing  teacher  in  Boston  at  that 
time,  and  this  friend  insisted  that  I  must  go  into 
Boston  and  sing  for  Mrs.  Long.  I  was  tremulous 
with  joy  (still  in  my  stocking  feet),  and  my  mother 
and  I  —  breathless  —  told  my  father  the  news  that 
arrangements  were  to  be  made  for  me  to  sing  at  last 
before  a  real  singing  teacher! 

My  father  eyed  us  and  shook  his  head  thought 
fully,  looking  at  my  mother  as  though  to  say : "  She 's 
encouraging  the  child  in  all  this  tomfoolery."  For, 
while  he  himself  had  a  splendid  natural  voice  and 

19 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


loved  music  and  was  proud  of  my  childish  achieve 
ments,  I  doubt  if  at  that  time  he  could  foresee  the 
practical  side  of  a  musical  career.  But  my  mother 
and  I  were  heart  and  soul  for  the  idea,  and^sing  I 
would  and  must. 

Finally  came  the  "day  of  days,"  and  it  poured. 
Alas  for  the  favorable  impression  I  had  hoped  to 
create!  My  hair  had  been  tightly  rolled  in  lead  all 
night  to  obtain  the  desired  "crimps";  I  hadn't 
closed  an  eye  from  the  discomfort  and  nervousness; 
and  here  was  the  fateful  hour  at  hand,  with  no 
vestige  of  a  "crimp,"  my  face  pale  with  excitement, 
though  I  pinched  my  cheeks  cruelly  to  make  the 
"roses"  come,  and  my  muslin  frock  out  of  the 
question  in  such  weather.  I  felt  like  a  veritable 
Cinderella  in  my  plain,  dark  suit. 

However,  off  we  started,  half  an  hour's  ride  on 
the  train.  What  I  suffered  in  apprehension;  how 
dizzy  I  felt,  and  what  a  queer  feeling  I  had  in  the 
pit  of  my  stomach!  I  could  have  wept  from  the 
tension.  Could  this  drooping  young  person  be  the 
erstwhile  very  confident  embryo  prima  donna? 

Mrs.  Long,  of  fond  memory,  put  me  at  once  at 
my  ease  with  her  kindly  manner.  Her  great  brown 
eyes  looked  into  mine  and  inspired  me  with  such 
confidence  that  soon  I  was  warbling  as  freely  as  if 

20 


I    RESOLVE    TO    SING    CARMEN 

I  were  at  home  alone.  I  no  longer  heeded  the  rain, 
my  appearance,  or  my  surroundings.  To  my  delight 
I  was  accepted  at  once  as  a  pupil,  and  it  is  to  this 
excellent  and  thorough  teacher  that  I  can  give 
thanks  for  proper  guidance  in  my  early  years.  My 
aversion  and  distaste  for  the  drudgery  of  scales  and 
routine  manifested  itself  quickly,  but  Mrs.  Long 
knew  the  best  arguments  for  my  rebellious  little 
soul,  and,  as  I  really  did  wish  to  become  a  great 
and  noble  singer,  I  worked  as  faithfully  at  my  tasks 
as  I  could. 

Meanwhile  I  began  to  sing  occasionally  in  the 
Congregational  Church  in  Melrose.  My  mother 
from  this  time  kept  a  scrapbook  of  newspaper 
notices  concerning  me,  for  I  was  now  beginning  to 
become  known  as  a  local  celebrity.  The  first  clip 
ping  in  my  mother's  scrapbook  is  from  the  "Melrose 
Journal"  of  May  21,  1895,  and  is  as  follows:  — 

Miss  Geraldine  Farrar,  daughter  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
S.  D.  Farrar,  has  a  voice  of  great  power  and  richness. 
Many  who  heard  her  for  the  first  time,  at  the  Vesper 
service  last  Sunday  afternoon,  were  greatly  surprised. 
She  is  only  thirteen  years  of  age,  but  has  a  future  of 
great  promise,  and  it  is  believed  that  Melrose  will 
some  day  be  proud  of  her  attainments  in  the  world  of 
music. 

As  a  result  of  the  church  singing  and  the  fact 

21 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


that  I  was  actually  studying  in  Boston  under  the 
famous  Mrs.  Long,  I  was  invited  to  sing  at  my  first 
regular  concert.  The  programme,  carefully  pre 
served  by  my  mother,  shows  that  it  was  organized 
by  Miss  Eudora  F.  Parkhurst  in  aid  of  the  piano 
fund  for  the  Melrose  Highlands  Congregational 
Vestry  and  that  it  took  place  on  Wednesday  eve 
ning,  January  15, 1896,  in  the  Town  Hall  of  Melrose. 
I  sang  two  numbers,  "Non  conosci  il  bel  suol,"  from 
"Mignon"  (I  note  my  Italian  had  improved),  and 
Auguste's  "Bird  on  the  Wing."  Of  this  interesting 
event,  my  first  public  appearance  in  concert,  the 
"Melrose  Journal"  of  the  next  day  said:  — 

Miss  Eudora  Parkhurst's  concert  in  aid  of  the  piano 
fund  of  the  Highland  Congregational  Church,  given  in 
the  Town  Hall  Wednesday  evening,  attracted  a  small 
audience.  Miss  Parkhurst,  who  is  a  very  young  lady 
and  herself  a  musician  of  considerable  ability,  put  a 
great  deal  of  work  into  the  concert  and  its  details,  and 
it  is  to  be  regretted  that  it  could  not  have  been  better 
patronized.  Miss  Geraldine  Farrar  was  the  leading 
attraction,  rendering  her  two  solos  with  great  con 
fidence  and  ability.  For  her  first  number  she  sang 
"Non  conosci  il  bel  suol,"  from  "Mignon,"  rendering 
the  difficult  music  with  surprising  ease  and  fidelity, 
receiving  a  recall.  Her  second  number,  "Bird  on  the 
Wing,"  was  also  well  received.  The  Alpine  Quartet,  of 
Woburn,  Miss  Cora  Cummings,  banjo  soloist,  Miss 

22 


I    RESOLVE    TO    SING    CARMEN 

Welma  Cummings  and  Miss  Parkhurst,  violinists,  and 
Miss  Bessie  Adams,  reciter,  were  the  other  attractions. 
Mr.  Grant  Drake  presided  at  the  piano  as  accom 
panist. 

I  find  in  my  personal  notes  of  comment  on  this 
interesting  programme  that  I  disliked  the  banjo  as 
an  instrument,  though  Miss  Cummings  played  well, 
and  that  Mr.  Drake,  the  pianist,  was  "very  nice." 
Even  in  those  days  I  was  given  to  analysis. 

My  success  at  this  recital  led  directly  to  another 
public  appearance  —  February  5,  1896  —  in  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  Hall  at  Melrose,  at  a  concert  given 
by  Miss  Jennie  Mae  Spencer,  a  Boston  contralto, 
through  whose  friendship  and  advice  I  had  gone 
to  study  with  Mrs.  Long.  This  was  the  first  time 
my  name  appeared  in  large  type  as  one  of  the 
principal  singers,  and  I  was  greatly  pleased. 

This  was  the  first  paying  professional  appearance 
I  ever  made;  for  singing  one  number  and  a  duet 
with  Miss  Spencer  I  received  the  magnificent  sum 
of  ten  dollars.  But  this  concert  called  me  to  the 
attention  of  the  music  critics  of  Boston,  and  the 
critic  of  the  "Boston  Times"  wrote: — 

Miss  Geraldine  Farrar  is  a  young  girl  who  has  a 
phenomenal  soprano  voice  and  gives  promise  of  be 
coming  a  great  singer. 

28 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


My  marginal  criticism  on  this  concert  programme 
shows  that  Mr.  J.  C.  Bartlett,  the  tenor,  was 
"fine";  Miss  Bell  Temple,  reader,  was  "good"; 
Mr.  Wulf  Fries,  the  'cellist,  was  "elegant";  and 
Mr.  Drake,  the  pianist,  was  "nice,"  as  usual. 

These  two  concerts  were  followed  by  further 
careful  study  under  Mrs.  Long,  and  then  at  last 
came  the  eventful  night  when  I  made  my  real 
debut  in  Boston  at  the  annual  recital  given  by  her 
pupils.  I  shall  never  forget  the  date,  Tuesday 
evening,  May  26, 1896.  I  was  fourteen  at  the  time, 
having  celebrated  my  birthday  in  February.  The 
recital  took  place  in  Association  Hall,  and  I  wore  a 
simple  little  white  dress  with  green  trimmings.  On 
the  programme  of  this  memorable  event,  carefully 
pasted  in  a  scrapbook  by  my  mother,  I  find  this 
comment  written  in  my  own  hand:  "This  is  what 
I  made  my  debut  in,  very  calm  and  sedate,  not  the 
least  nervous." 

Following  my  critical  tendencies  at  the  other 
concerts,  I  find  the  programme  of  this  first  recital 
filled  with  marginal  comments.  Most  of  my  re 
marks  were  very  flattering  to  my  fellow  pupils. 
Concerning  Miss  Leveroni,  who  afterward  studied 
abroad  and  returned  to  America  to  sing  with 
Henry  Russell's  grand  opera  company,  I  wrote: 

24 


CALVE  AS  CARMEN 


f  r 


I    RESOLVE    TO    SING    CARMEN 

"Very  nice,  gestures  natural."  Others  were  "pretty 
good,"  "very  fine,"  or  "very  nervous,"  and  only 
one  pupil  was  criticized  as  "Bad,  off  key." 

The  Boston  newspapers  always  gave  extended 
notices  to  the  recitals  of  Mrs.  Long's  pupils,  and 
this  was  no  exception.  I  was  mentioned  favorably, 
but  it  remained  forthe  dearold  "Melrose  Reporter" 
to  give  me  a  most  extraordinary  and  almost 
prophetic  criticism.  I  quote  from  the  newspaper 
clipping  so  carefully  preserved  by  my  mother:  — 

The  Cavatina  from  "II  Barbiere,"  sung  by  Miss 
Geraldine  Farrar,  will  interest  those  in  Melrose 
who  were  not  able  to  attend  the  recital.  For  many 
months  musical  people  have  waited  the  gradual 
development  of  this  phenomenal  voice,  a  God- 
given  power  which  the  child  has  sent  forth  with 
a  freedom,  compass,  and  quality  that  has  demanded 
the  admiration  of  our  best  Boston  critics.  Not 
withstanding  the  florid  and  extreme  difficulties  of 
the  Cavatina,  the  execution  and  reserved  force, 
absolutely  fresh  and  firm  for  each  attack,  was  a 
triumph  and  a  revelation  of  tone  power.  She  sang 
without  notes,  and  embraced  the  beautiful  flowers 
showered  upon  her,  as  unconscious  of  her  success 
as  though  she  had  stood  among  her  mates  and  told 
a  simple  story.  With  hopeful  anticipation,  her 
many  loving  friends  will  follow  her  future  which 
seems  already  unfolding,  and  as  the  child  glides  to 
womanhood,  our  little  twinkling  star  may  rise  by 

25 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


and  by  from  dear  Melrose,  and  become  resplendent 
in  the  musical  firmament,  where  all  the  world  will 
love  to  listen  and  do  her  homage. 

The  first  flowers  sent  to  me  at  this  recital,  care 
fully  dried  and  pressed,  are  still  one  of  my  dearest 
souvenirs;  and  I  also  treasure  carefully  the  first 
card  of  good  wishes  sent  to  me  on  that  occasion. 
It  bears  the  carefully  engraved  name  of  "Mr.  John 
E.  Pilling,"  and  underneath  is  written:  "May  suc 
cess  always  attend  you."  I  hope  Mr.  Pilling,  if 
he  ever  sees  these  lines,  will  accept  the  long- 
deferred  thanks  of  the  little  Melrose  girl  to  whom 
he  sent  such  an  encouraging  message. 

In  my  last  year  of  study  under  Mrs.  Long  I 
reveled  for  the  first  time  in  the  joys  of  grand  opera. 
That  winter  in  Boston,  the  Castle  Square  Opera 
Company,  an  excellent  organization  managed  by 
Henry  W.  Savage,  was  presenting  grand  opera  in 
English  at  the  old  Castle  Square  Theater.  The 
leading  singers  were  J.  K.  Murray  and  his  wife, 
Clara  Lane.  I  became  a  subscriber  to  this  excellent 
company's  performances  on  Wednesday  matinees. 
To  me  these  matinees  were  meat  and  drink;  all  per 
formances  were  well  supported  by  music-lovers  in 
the  vicinity.  It  was  Clara  Lane  whom  I  first  heard 
sing  "Carmen,"  a  role  which  has  recently  figured 
26 


JEAN  L>E   RESZKE 


I    RESOLVE    TO  SING    CARMEN 

so  successfully  in  my  own  repertoire  at  the  Metro 
politan  in  New  York.  During  these  enjoyable 
weeks  I  heard  this  company  sing  most  of  the  grand 
opera  repertoire,  in  English,  and  I  was  thrilled  and 
fascinated. 

Then  came  another  great  and  unexpected  joy. 
The  Maurice  Grau  Grand  Opera  Company,  from 
the  Metropolitan  Opera  House  in  New  York, 
visited  Boston  for  a  spring  season  at  Mechanics 
Hall.  My  mother  decided  that  I  must  hear  Calve 
sing  "Carmen."  The  cast  included  Jean  de  Reszke, 
then  at  the  height  of  his  success;  Emma  Eames, 
Saleza,  Pol  Plangon  as  the  toreador,  and  of  course 
the  wonderful  Calv6.  I  completely  lost  my  head 
over  this  remarkable  performance.  For  days  and 
nights  I  reveled  in  the  memories  of  that  magnificent 
representation.  This,  then,  was  the  visualization  of 
all  my  dreams  of  years.  This  triumph  I  had  wit 
nessed  was  that  toward  which  all  my  hopes,  fears, 
and  prayers  had  been  directed.  This  wonderful 
creature  was  what  I  hoped  —  nay,  intended  —  to 
become.  And  then  and  there  was  born  within  me  a 
fervent  and  earnest  decision  that,  come  what  may, 
I  too  must  some  day  sing  "  Carmen  "  with  the  most 
wonderful  cast  of  grand  opera  artists  in  the  world, 
at  the  Metropolitan  in  New  York. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MY   FIRST   DAYS   IN   MY   DREAM   WORLD 

MY  meeting  with  Jean  de  Reszke  is  stamped  viv 
idly  in  my  memory,  since  he  was  the  first  personage 
from  that  beautiful  dream  world  of  opera  that  it 
was  my  privilege  to  meet.  Music  lovers  of  America 
need  no  reminder  of  his  tremendous  vogue  as  a 
man  and  his  wonderful  career  as  an  artist.  I  had 
the  opportunity  to  sing  for  him  through  Jehangier 
Cola,  a  Hindu  professor  who  at  the  time  was  inter 
esting  Boston  society  with  his  Oriental  teachings. 
Just  how  I  met  him  I  cannot  recall,  but  he  had  per 
sonal  acquaintance  with  many  of  the  artists,  both 
here  and  abroad;  and  so  one  rainy  morning  (dismal 
weather  always  seemed  to  accompany  such  ven 
tures)  my  mother  and  I,  escorted  by  Professor 
Cola,  descended  at  the  Parker  House  where  the 
de  Reszke  brothers,  Jean  and  Edouard,  were  stop 
ping. 

I  remember  that  I  played  my  own  accompani 
ment  and  sang  rather  indifferently;  the  inspiring 
"mood"  was  not  to  be  commanded.  Mr.  de  Reszke 
listened  politely,  probably  having  been  bored  often 
28 


EMMA  THURSBY 


MY    DREAM    WORLD 


by  many  such  young  aspirants,  and  gave  me  sen 
sible  advice  that  could  apply  to  the  average  girl 
of  intelligence  and  enthusiastic  musical  ambitions. 
I  recall  that  I  listened  attentively  and  seriously, 
quite  realizing  that  Mr.  de  Reszke  could  hardly 
glean  other  than  the  most  superficial  of  impressions 
after  hearing  a  stranger  for  half  an  hour,  and  then 
hardly  at  her  best. 

Upon  his  advice  to  go  to  New  York  and  consult 
a  teacher  of  whom  he  had  heard  excellent  reports, 
my  mother  and  I  made  plans  for  such  an  immediate 
change.  My  father  listened  in  passive  amazement, 
but  acquiesced,  as  he  always  has,  in  the  belief  that 
whatever  emotional  tornado  should  overtake  me, 
my  mother's  steadying  influence  would  maintain 
the  necessary  equilibrium. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  excitement  and  curiosity 
upon  our  arrival  in  New  York.  The  first  thing  I 
wanted  to  see  was  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House. 
The  great  yellow  building  at  the  corner  of  Broad 
way  and  Thirty-ninth  Street  seemed  to  promise  all 
kinds  of  wonderful  possibilities  and  the  fulfillment 
of  my  dreams.  Little  thrills  of  hope  made  my  heart 
sing  and  my  spirits  soar  as  I  looked  at  the  bill 
boards  and  whispered  to  myself :  "Some  day  I  will, 
I  must9  sing  there.  My  name  shall  adorn  those  walls 

29 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


and  spell  enchantment  to  the  passing  crowd."  I 
walked  on  air,  absorbed  in  the  rosy  future  I  was 
planning  so  confidently  for  myself. 

The  teacher  who  had  been  recommended  to  me 
for  this  visit  to  New  York  was  dear  old  Louisa  Cap- 
piani,  bless  her!  She  who  had  been  the  teacher  of 
many  of  the  light-opera  singers  was  greatly  pleased 
at  my  singing,  and  wanted  me  to  sign  a  three  years' 
exclusive  contract  with  her,  but  my  mother  de 
cided  that  I  was  too  young  to  have  my  future  con 
trolled  in  any  way. 

The  arrival  of  hot  weather  drove  us  to  the  coun 
try;  so  with  great  regret  I  said  good-bye  to  Cappi- 
ani,  and  we  started  for  Greenacre,  Maine,  and  it 
was  there  that  I  met  Miss  Emma  Thursby.  She 
occupied  an  enviable  position  in  New  York  musical 
circles  and  was  recognized  as  an  excellent  authority 
on  voice.  She  was  kind  enough  to  say  that  she 
would  be  glad  to  have  me  study  with  her  when  she 
returned  to  New  York,  and  so  it  happened  that  the 
following  autumn  found  us  back  there,  and  I  com 
menced  my  studies  with  her. 

That  winter  of  1897-98  was  full  of  excitement  and 

thrills  for  me.  In  addition  to  my  studies  with  Miss 

Thursby  I  went  to  the  opera  and  theaters  as  often 

as  I  could  afford  it.  And  what  a  whirlwind  of  emo- 

3o 


MELBA  AS   MARGUERITE 


MY    DREAM    WORLD 


tions  it  was!  Melba  in  "Faust,"  "Romeo  and 
Juliet,"  and  "Lucia";  Calve,  the  peerless  "Car 
men";  magnificent  Lehmann  (later  to  become  my 
revered  teacher  and  dear  friend) ;  the  incomparable 
Jean  de  Reszke;  handsome  Pol  Plancon;  sprightly 
Campanari  in  the  "Barber"  — memories  crowd  in 
upon  me!  —  not  forgetting  the  versatile  Bauer- 
meister  of  all  roles.  I  rarely  had  a  seat,  but  was  one 
of  the  army  of  "standees,"  eager,  enthusiastic, 
oblivious  to  all  save  the  dream  world  these  wonder 
ful  beings  unfolded  before  me. 

There  was  one  upon  whom  I  lavished  all  the  ar 
dor  of  my  youthful,  heroine-worshiping  years  — 
our  own  lovely  Nordica,  who  became  my  ideal  for 
beauty,  accomplishment,  and  perseverance.  Later 
I  was  to  owe  to  her  friendship  and  that  of  her  hus 
band,  Zoltan  Dome,  the  valuable  and  timely  advice 
that  diverted  my  path  from  a  provincial  theater  in 
Italy  to  the  magnificent  Royal  Opera  in  Berlin,  and 
subsequent  friendships  that  have  proved  so  potent 
as  well  as  so  spectacular  a  feature  in  my  career. 

Among  the  plays  which  I  saw  that  winter  were 
"The  Devil's  Disciple,"  with  Richard  Mansfield 
in  the  star  role;  Julia  Marlowe  in  "The  Countess 
Valeska,"  and  Ada  Rehan  in  "The  Country  Girl" 
and  as  Lady  Teazle  in  "The  School  for  Scandal" 

3i 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


(how  I  did  love  her  as  Lady  Teazle!)  —  all  wonder 
ful  plays  for  a  schoolgirl  still  in  her  teens. 

It  was  at  this  time  also  that  I  first  met  Melba, 
who  was  in  New  York,  and  it  was  Miss  Thursby 
who  took  me  to  sing  for  her.  Much  of  my  former 
nervousness  had  worn  away.  I  had  worked  hard 
and  was  anxious  for  Melba's  approval,  and  her  im 
partial  judgment  as  to  the  advisability  of  immediate 
study  abroad.  That  day,  too,  the  sun  was  radiant, 
I  was  in  excellent  humor,  and,  all  in  all,  everything 
pointed  toward  a  happy  and  favorable  meeting. 

I  remember  Melba's  enthusiasm  and  generosity 
with  gratitude,  though  I  have  not  seen  her  these 
many  years  to  tell  her  so.  I  sang  unusually  well,  to 
my  own  accompaniment,  and  she  was  so  genuinely 
interested  as  to  propose  that  I  should  at  once  sing 
for  her  manager,  C.  A.  Ellis,  of  Boston,  of  whose 
opera  company,  in  association  with  Walter  Dam- 
rosch,  she  was  the  scintillating  luminary.  So  a  few 
days  later  my  mother  and  I  joined  her  there  at  a 
hotel  which  was  the  temporary  home  of  the  song 
birds. 

Perhaps  you  can  picture  my  delight.  I  floated 
in  fairyland;  to  lunch  and  dine  in  the  intoxicating 
proximity  of  these  wonderful  people;  to  watch 
them,  like  gods  and  goddesses,  deign  to  descend  to 

32 


MISS  FARRAR  AND  HER  MOTHER 


MY    DREAM    WORLD 


the  earth  of  ordinary  mortals  —  it  was  like  living 
in  a  dream. 

The  eventful  day  came  when  I  finally  sang  for 
Mr.  Ellis.  It  was  in  the  Boston  Theater,  and 
Melba,  Mr.  Damrosch,  and  many  others  were  pres 
ent.  I  was  a  little  anxious  at  the  idea  of  singing  in 
such  a  large,  empty  auditorium,  and  feared  that  my 
voice  would  not  be  heard  to  advantage  in  such  an 
enormous  place;  yet,  after  the  ordeal  was  over, 
Madame  Melba  took  me  in  her  arms  and  embraced 
me  with  enthusiasm  and  affection.  She  predicted 
such  splendid  things  as  even  I  scarcely  dared  hope. 
I  was  elated  and  grateful  indeed  at  the  general  com 
mendation,  for  Mr.  Ellis  offered  me  an  engage 
ment,  and  that  night,  at  the  hotel,  Melba  wished 
me  to  sign  a  contract  of  several  years  to  place  my 
self  under  her  tutelage  and  appear  later  in  opera 
subject  to  her  advice. 

My  dreams  were  fast  becoming  realities.  But, 
as  usual,  my  mother's  good  sense  dominated  the 
situation.  While  thoroughly  appreciative  of  the 
advantages  that  Melba  could  offer  me  in  her  gen 
erous  impulse,  my  mother  felt  that  I  was  far  too 
young  to  restrict  my  actions  and  bind  my  future 
career  in  any  manner.  Besides,  with  all  the  excite 
ment  of  the  winter,  my  intense  emotional  nature 

33 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


and  the  interest  I  had  aroused  in  musical  circles, 
she  wisely  thought  it  best  for  me  to  be  withdrawn 
for  a  time  from  this  all-too-stimulating  atmosphere, 
which  might  later  prove  unwholesome  and  detri 
mental  to  serious  study.  In  consequence,  I  was 
placed  in  the  household  and  under  the  guidance  of 
a  dear  friend,  Mrs.  Perkins,  in  Washington,  Dis 
trict  of  Columbia,  to  continue  other  studies  in  addi 
tion  to  my  singing,  while  I  was  impatiently  waiting 
to  "grow  up." 

In  the  spring  of  1898,  when  the  war  spirit  spread 
over  the  country  like  wildfire,  my  mother  and  I 
were  taken  to  the  White  House  one  pleasant  after 
noon  to  call  upon  Mrs.  McKinley.  The  President's 
wife  received  us  in  the  Blue  Room,  while  Mr. 
McKinley  was  occupied  in  his  private  office  with 
engrossing  business  connected  with  the  war.  Sud 
denly  the  official  news  came  of  Dewey's  great  vic 
tory  at  Manila.  The  President,  with  the  official 
dispatches  in  his  hand,  entered  the  room  where  his 
devoted  wife  was  surrounded  by  a  sympathetic 
group  of  friends.  In  turn  we  were  each  presented 
to  Mr.  McKinley,  and  then,  thrilled  by  the  an 
nouncement  of  the  victory,  Mrs.  McKinley  asked 
me  to  sing  "The  Star-Spangled  Banner." 

There  was  a  piano  in  the  room,  for  Mrs.  McKin- 
34 


MY    DREAM    WORLD 


ley  was  intensely  devoted  to  music.  I  played  my 
own  accompaniment,  and,  stirred  by  the  glorious 
news  and  inspired  by  the  presence  of  the  President 
and  his  wife  and  the  compliment  of  being  asked  to 
sing  the  national  anthem  in  the  White  House,  I 
sang  with  all  the  ardor  and  intensity  of  which  my 
nature  was  capable.  I  have  sung  "  The  Star-Span 
gled  Banner"  many  times  since,  but  only  once 
under  such  inspiring  circumstances,  when,  at  that 
dramatic  moment  after  the  tragedy  of  the  Lusitania, 
I  called  upon  the  crowded  house  at  the  Metropol 
itan  Opera  (a  benefit  performance  of  "Carmen")  to 
join  me  in  our  national  hymn.  Garbed  in  Colum 
bia's  robes,  with  two  Red  Cross  nurses  at  my  side, 
the  tableau  awoke  thunderous  applause  and  the 
great  house  joined  in  the  singing  with  a  will! 


CHAPTER  V 

I  REFUSE  TO  SING  AT  THE  METROPOLITAN 

THROUGH  Miss  Thursby  I  met  Dr.  Holbrook  Cur 
tis,  the  eminent  New  York  throat  specialist,  and 
became  his  patient;  his  unfailing,  kindly  interest 
and  loyal  friendship  did  much  for  me.  One  of  the 
amusing  events  of  that  early  spring  of  1898  was  a 
society  puppet  show  which  Dr.  Curtis  staged  in 
New  York.  There  were  tableaux  and  songs  and 
recitations,  all  for  charity,  and  then  came  the  pup 
pet  show  itself,  in  which  I  appeared  as  Calve  in  a 
"Carmen"  costume. 

Imagine  a  long  stretch  of  painted  canvas  across 
the  stage,  with  the  costumes  painted  grotesquely 
beneath  openings  through  which  the  performers' 
heads  appeared.  Dr.  Curtis  himself  assumed  the 
role  of  Maurice  Grau,  director  of  the  Metropolitan, 
and  his  make-up  was  splendid;  various  other  ama 
teurs  impersonated  Melba,  Jean  de  Reszke,  and 
other  stars.  The  idea  of  the  skit  was  to  show  the 
trouble  Mr.  Grau  had  in  managing  his  company  of 
stars.  There  was  much  amusing  dialogue,  and  I 
remember  my  complaint,  as  Calve,  was  that  I  was 
36 


DR.    HOLBROOK   CURTIS 


I  REFUSE    TO    SING 


asked  to  sing  for  nothing  at  all-too-many  ben 
efits. 

In  Dr.  Curtis's  office  I  soon  afterward  met  Mrs. 
Grau,  wife  of  the  famous  director,  and  she  insisted 
that  I  should  sing  for  her  husband.  It  was  proposed 
to  stage  a  big  special  performance  of  "Mignon"  at 
the  Metropolitan,  with  Melba  as  "Philine,"  and  a 
star  cast,  for  the  benefit  of  the  families  of  the  vic 
tims  of  the  Maine  disaster,  and  Mrs.  Grau  thought 
that  should  I  please  her  husband  he  might  consider 
the  occasion  a  propitious  one  to  introduce  me  in 
grand  opera,  as  the  role  of  "Mignon"  was  admir 
ably  suited  to  my  youth  and  vocal  abilities.  I  had 
studied  "stage  deportment"  with  Victor  Capoul, 
and  knew  the  opera  backward  and  forward  in  both 
French  and  Italian. 

I  own  I  was  greatly  tempted,  and  eager  to  make 
so  auspicious  a  beginning.  Such  an  offer  to  a  six 
teen-year-old  girl,  I  think,  would  be  calculated  to 
twist  any  young  woman's  head  awry.  Fortunately, 
upon  reflection,  good  sense  intervened  and  saved 
me  from  what  might  have  been  a  very  unwise  step. 
Granted  that  I  made  a  successful  appearance,  at 
best  it  could  be  but  the  sensation  of  a  few  hours; 
and  I  had  no  mind  to  be  a  singing  Cinderella  for 
one  night.  When  my  triumph  should  come,  if  it 

37 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


ever  did,  it  must  be  the  beginning  of  a  well-defined 
career,  and  I  was  far  too  young  and  ignorant  to 
tread  this  difficult  and  dazzling  path  so  soon. 

Nevertheless,  Mrs.  Grau  made  an  appointment 
for  me  to  sing  for  her  husband  —  privately,  as  I 
thought.  But  when  I  appeared  on  the  stage  of  the 
Metropolitan,  I  found  him  surrounded  by  a  great 
many  people,  members  of  the  Metropolitan  Com 
pany,  business  associates  and  advisers,  and  others. 
What  my  emotions  were  when  I  passed  in  through 
the  stage  door  I  cannot  describe.  Curiously  enough, 
this  time  the  empty  house  did  not  intimidate,  but 
inspired  me.  Perhaps  I  felt  the  encouraging  shad 
ows  of  the  great  ones  hovering  about  me;  at  any 
rate,  I  sang  as  I  believe  I  had  never  sung  before. 
To  every  one's  amazement  I  dismissed  the  accom 
panist  whose  laborious  efforts  were  more  of  a  hin 
drance  than  an  aid  to  my  "audition,"  and,  seating 
myself  at  the  piano,  I  continued  singing  to  my  own 
accompaniment,  as  was  invariably  my  habit. 

Mr.  Grau  was  exceedingly  pleased  with  the  prom 
ise  I  showed  and  especially  predicted  a  brilliant 
future  in  operatic  singing;  but  he  seconded  my 
mother's  sensibly  planned  course  for  me  to  study 
more  quietly,  less  in  public  view,  and  wait  till  a 
few  years  of  hard  work  and  experience  had  passed 
38 


I    REFUSE    TO    SING 


over  my  ambitious  little  head.  As  a  kind  after 
thought  he  added,  no  doubt  to  soften  the  sting  of 
my  disappointment:  "Would  you  like  to  sing  in  one 
of  our  Sunday  night  concerts?" 

"No,  thank  you,  Mr.  Grau,"  I  replied.  (No  tame 
concert  appearances  after  my  imagination  had  been 
dazzled  by  a  possible  debut  in  opera!) 

"But  it  might  be  valuable  to  you  to  have  your 
name  on  the  billboards  of  the  Metropolitan  Opera 
House,"  he  urged  good-naturedly. 

"You  will  see  it  there  some  day,"  I  replied  with 
firm  conviction. 

He  laughed,  and  certainly  had  no  more  reason  to 
take  me  more  seriously  than  dozens  of  other  young 
"hopefuls"  who  dreamed  of  some  day  storming  the 
Metropolitan  doors. 

Quite  without  my  knowledge  or  consent,  various 
reports  of  this  and  other  incidents  in  regard  to  my 
singing  reached  the  newspapers,  and  I  experienced 
a  distinct  shock  when  I  read  in  the  New  York 
"Herald"  the  following  amusing  yet  caustic  criti 
cism: — 

If  half  of  what  Miss  Geraldine  Farrar's  enthusiastic 
friends  say  of  her  vocal  and  dramatic  talents  is  true, 
then  this  sixteen-year-old  girl  from  Boston  is  the 
dramatic  soprano  for  whom  we  have  all  been  waiting 
these  many  years.  With  all  due  respect  to  the  young 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


lady,  a  lot  of  rubbish  has  been  circulated  as  to  her 
marvelous,  not  to  say  miraculous,  vocal  gifts  and 
accomplishments,  and  she  cannot  do  better  than  in 
clude,  in  the  nightly  prayers  which  all  good  girls  say, 
an  earnest  invocation  to  Heaven  to  preserve  her  from 
her  friends,  that  she  may  be  saved  from  the  results 
of  overpraise. 

That  Miss  Farrar  has  a  wonderful  gift  of  song  has 
been  attested  by  so  many  discreet  judges  that  it  is 
doubtless  true.  But  when  alleged  admirers  of  the 
young  singer  tack  on  all  sorts  of  trimmings,  such  as 
that  Madame  Melba  wept  with  joy  upon  hearing  her, 
and  that  Madame  Nordica  said,  "This  is  the  voice 
of  which  I  have  dreamed,"  and  that  Miss  Emma 
Thursby  refused  to  be  comforted  until  Miss  Farrar 
consented  to  come  and  live  with  her,  it  is  about  time 
to  add,  "and  then  she  woke  up." 

Why  not  confine  the  stories  to  simple  facts;  that  she 
has  a  remarkable  voice,  almost  phenomenal  in  one  of 
her  age,  which  is  true;  that  her  concert  successes  have 
been  extraordinary;  and  that,  if  youthful  evidences 
hold  good,  she  will  some  day  assume  an  enviable  posi 
tion  in  grand  opera?  Is  n't  that  quite  enough  praise 
without  subjecting  Melba  to  tears,  disturbing  Nor- 
dica's  dreams,  or  suggesting  the  impossibility  of 
comforting  Miss  Thursby?  Miss  Farrar  is  a  hand 
some,  gifted,  and  very  earnest  young  girl,  and  if  she 
has  common  sense  as  well  as  native  talent,  she  will 
say  that  little  nightly  prayer,  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the 
adulation  of  foolish  friends,  and  attend  strictly  to 
practicing  her  scales.  Then  some  day,  perhaps  very 
soon,  this  Boston  girl  will  be  electrifying  metropoli- 
4o 


I    REFUSE    TO    SING 


tan  audiences  as  Mile.  Farrarini,  the  latest  operatic 
comet. 

I  was  almost  in  tears  when  I  read  this  article, 
tempered  with  kindness  as  it  was,  for  the  stories 
about  Melba  and  Nordica  had  been  the  results  of 
the  feverish  imagination  of  newspaper  reporters 
who  had  exaggerated  the  truth.  But  the  musical 
critic  of  the  "Herald,"  who  penned  this  prophetic 
and  caustic  comment,  really  did  me  a  great  service 
—  and  I  thank  him  —  for  from  that  moment  I  de 
termined  upon  a  policy  of  seclusion  and  self-efface 
ment;  my  pursuit  for  glory  should  be  conducted 
along  the  lines  of  modesty  and  restraint. 
•  Alas  for  the  miscarriage  of  such  good  intentions! 
'Seclusion  and  self-effacement  have  hardly  been  syn 
onymous  with  my  euphonious  name! 


CHAPTER  VI 

PARIS 

THE  time  was  now  rapidly  approaching  which  was 
to  be  the  turning  point  of  my  career  —  a  trip  to 
Europe.  Up  to  this  time  I  had  accomplished  prac 
tically  all  that  I  could  hope  for  in  America.  I  had 
studied  under  the  best  teachers  in  Boston  and  in 
New  York.  I  knew  much  of  the  grand  opera  reper 
toire.  I  had  sung  in  concerts  and  recitals.  I  had 
just  turned  seventeen.  The  necessary  training  for  a 
grand-opera  career  was  then  impossible  in  America, 
and  tradition  decreed  that  foreign  singers  with  a 
foreign  reputation  should  be  engaged  for  grand 
opera's  holy  of  holies,  the  shining  exception  being 
our  own  American  Nordica,  then  in  her  prime. 
I  decided  that  Paris  must  be  the  next  stepping- 
stone;  but  how? 

To  study  in  Paris  meant  a  great  deal  of  money, 
and  my  father's  business  in  Melrose,  while  prosper 
ous  enough  for  our  home  needs,  could  not  meet 
the  strain  of  an  expensive  stay  abroad.  It  was  an 
understood  thing  that  when  I  did  go,  my  father 
and  mother  should  accompany  me.  The  financial 


*.V 

ELIZABETH 


MIMI 


FIVE   WELL-KNOWN   PARTS 


PARIS 


problem,  however,  seemed  almost  an  insurmount 
able  one. 

But  once  more  the  element  of  luck  —  or  Fate  — 
intervened  just  at  the  most  critical  moment.  At 
one  of  the  receptions  given  by  Miss  Thursby,  at  her 
home  in  Gramercy  Park,  I  had  met  a  Mrs.  Kimball, 
of  Boston.  She  heard  me  sing,  and  was  interested 
in  the  story  of  my  ambition  to  study  abroad.  I  told 
her,  however,  that  although  my  father  was  seri 
ously  considering  selling  his  business  in  Melrose,  we 
feared  the  proceeds  would  be  insufficient  for  the 
course  of  study  that  seemed  necessary. 

"I  have  a  friend  in  Boston,"  said  Mrs.  Kimball, 
"who  is  interested  in  music  and  perhaps  she  would 
arrange  something  if  you  sang  for  her.  Will  you 
come  to  Boston  and  meet  her?" 

Would  I?  The  prospect  was  too  alluring.  A  very 
few  days  afterward  I  had  returned  to  Boston  with 
my  mother  in  response  to  a  letter  making  an  ap 
pointment  for  me  to  meet  Mrs.  Bertram  Webb. 

Mrs.  Webb  was  the  widow  of  a  former  resident 
of  Salem.  She  was  then  stopping  at  her  beautiful 
home  in  Boston,  and  I  sang  for  her.  I  was  fortunate 
enough  to  enlist  her  immediate  sympathy  and  in 
terest,  and,  as  I  was  a  minor,  the  necessary  busi 
ness  formalities  were  concluded  by  my  parents  in 

43 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


my  behalf.  My  father  sold  his  store  in  Melrose  and 
realized  a  sum  sufficient  to  reduce  materially  the 
amount  of  the  first  loan  we  had  from  Mrs.  Webb. 
This  sum,  according  to  the  terms  of  a  written  con 
tract  drawn  up  by  Mrs.  Webb's  lawyer  and  duly 
signed  by  my  father  and  mother  as  my  legal  guard 
ians,  was  to  be  an  indefinite  amount,  advanced  as 
required,  and  to  be  repaid  at  an  indefinite  date 
when  my  voice  should  be  a  source  of  steady  income. 
The  only  actual  security  given  was  that  my  life  was 
insured  in  Mrs.  Webb's  favor,  so  that  in  case  of 
my  death  she  would  be  fully  compensated  for  the 
risk  and  loss  she  might  sustain. 

I  am  happy  and  proud  to  state  that,  although 
Mrs.  Webb  generously  advanced,  all  told,  a  sum 
approximating  thirty  thousand  dollars  during  the 
first  few  years  of  my  studies  in  Europe,  every  dollar 
of  it  was  repaid  within  two  years  after  my  return 
to  America. 

Upon  my  mother's  capable  shoulders  fell  the 
difficult  and  not  always  thankful  task  of  financing 
and  planning  for  our  adventurous  expeditions. 
Thus  completely  shielded  from  money  worries 
and  material  vexations,  I  abandoned  myself  to  the 
glory  of  dreams.  I  was  ready  to  slave  in  passionate 
devotion  and  enthusiasm  to  further  the  career  that 
44 


PARIS 


meant  my  life  —  to  conquer  in  song.  And  so  un 
afraid,  and  happy  with  the  heart  of  youth,  I  set 
forth  to  the  Old  World  of  my  dreams  and  hopes! 

We  sailed  from  Boston  late  in  September,  1899, 
on  the  old  Leyland  liner  Armenian.  She  was  a  cattle 
boat;  the  passengers  were  merely  incidental,  the 
beef  was  vital.  It  rained  the  day  we  sailed,  and  it 
rained  the  day  we  arrived  at  Liverpool.  London, 
where  I  spent  a  brief  ten  days,  remains  only  a  vague 
memory  of  fog  and  depression.  I  was  happy  to  leave 
it  behind  and  continue  toward  the  wonder  city  of 
my  dreams  —  Paris. 

Who  can  ever  forget  the  first  intoxicating  im 
pression  of  this  queen  of  cities?  The  channel  trip, 
the  bustle  of  arrival  at  Boulogne,  the  fussy  little 
foreign  train  tugging  us  unwillingly  over  the  lovely 
meadows  —  all  I  retain  of  that  is  a  blur.  But  it 
seems  like  yesterday  that  the  spruce  little  conduc 
tor  poked  his  merry  face  into  the  compartment  and 
gurgled  joyfully:  "Par-ee!"  Every  nerve  in  my 
body  tingles  now  when  I  recall  the  excitement  of 
it  all. 

We  drove  first  to  a  small  family  hotel  which  had 
been  recommended  by  some  of  our  fellow  passen 
gers  on  the  Armenian.  I  at  once  took  charge  of 
the  party,  and,  in  a  halting  harangue  in  French,  told 

45 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


the  landlady  what  rooms  we  wanted  and  how  much 
we  wished  to  pay. 

"If  you  will  only  tell  me  in  English,"  said  the 
landlady  helplessly,  speaking  my  native  tongue 
perfectly,  "I  can  understand  you  better." 

After  this  crushing  rebuke  to  my  French,  I  let  my 
mother  arrange  all  details. 

We  remained  but  a  few  days  here  —  only  until  we 
could  install  ourselves  in  an  apartment  in  the  Latin 
Quarter,  very  near  the  lovely  gardens  of  the  Luxem 
bourg  and  close  to  the  omnibus  stations.  It  cost 
then  three  sous  to  ride  on  top  of  a  bus  —  "T  im 
perial"  as  it  is  called  —  and  six  sous  to  ride  inside. 
By  constant  patronage  of  F  imperial  during  pleasant 
weather,  it  was  possible  to  lay  aside  enough  for  a 
drive  Sunday  in  the  Bois.  In  those  days  there  was 
no  taximeter  system  to  disconcert,  and  if  one  found 
an  amiable  cocker  (and  there  have  been  many,  bless 
them!),  it  was  quite  within  the  reach  of  the  modest 
purse  of  a  grand-opera  aspirant  thus  to  join  the 
gay  throng  of  smart  Parisian  turnouts. 

The  first  thing  of  importance  was  to  search  for 
a  good  teacher.  While  I  had  letters  to  various 
well-known  instructors  I  never  used  them,  prefer 
ring  to  be  judged  on  my  merits.  At  last  one  day  I 
called  upon  Trabadello,  the  Spaniard  who  had 
46 


PARIS 


numbered  among  his  pupils  Sybil  Sanderson  and 
Emma  Eames.  I  studied  with  Trabadello  from 
October,  1899,  until  the  spring  of  1900;  and,  to 
dispose  of  unauthorized  assertions,  I  may  add  that 
Trabadello  is  the  only  vocal  teacher  I  had  in  Paris. 

I  also  had  a  course  of  mise-en-scene,  or  prepara 
tion  for  the  stage,  with  an  excellent  teacher,  Ma 
dame  Martini,  an  artist  of  repute  and  an  excellent 
instructor  in  the  traditional  sense  of  the  word. 
For  instance,  Madame  would  say:  "After  ten  bars, 
lift  the  right  hand;  two  more,  then  point  it  at  the 
villain;  walk  slowly  toward  the  hero;  raise  your 
eyes  at  the  twentieth  bar  toward  heaven;  and  con 
clude  your  aria  with  a  sweeping  gesture  of  denial, 
sinking  gently  to  the  floor." 

Alas,  my  progress  was  not  brilliant  along  such 
lines.  I  could  not  study  grimaces  in  the  mirror;  I 
could  not  walk  hours  following  a  silly  chalk  line, 
and  I  refused  to  repeat  one  gesture  a  hundred  times 
at  the  same  phrase  or  bar  of  music.  Discussion  and 
argument  were  very  frequent  —  also  tears.  Never 
theless,  I  did  learn  much  from  so  well-grounded  a 
teacher,  and  often  have  occasion  to  think  pleasantly 
of  her  first  lessons  with  my  rather  difficult  nature. 

In  the  spring  I  heard  that  Nordica  was  in  Paris 
with  her  husband,  Mr.  Zoltan  Dome.  I  was  in  a 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


fever  of  anxiety  to  see  her,  and  have  her  hear  me 
sing  since  studying  abroad.  But  how  could  I  find 
her?  By  chance  I  heard  that  she  drove  daily  in  the 
Bois;  so  I  persuaded  a  friend  who  had  a  very  elegant 
equipage  to  invite  me  of  an  afternoon  to  drive,  so 
that  by  some  happy  chance  I  might  speak  to  Nor- 
dica. 

Around  my  neck  I  wore  a  talisman  which  I  had 
worn  for  many  years  —  a  little  silver  locket  for 
which  I  had  paid  two  dollars  in  Melrose  when  I 
was  a  schoolgirl.  At  that  time  my  cash  allowance 
for  pin  money  was  twenty-five  cents  a  week.  One 
day  I  saw  this  locket  in  a  jewelry  store  window.  I 
said  nothing,  but  saved  enough  to  buy  the  simple 
trinket,  which  I  wore  as  a  talisman,  with  Nordica's 
picture  in  it.  Naturally,  therefore,  I  wore  this  in 
the  hope  that  it  would  bring  me  luck  in  my  search 
for  her,  and  soon  to  my  joy  I  saw  the  famous  singer 
approaching  in  her  open  carriage,  with  Mr.  Dome. 
Of  course,  she  did  not  recognize  me,  but  as  she 
drove  by  I  stood  up  and  threw  the  precious  locket 
into  her  lap  to  attract  her  attention. 

Mr.  Dome  picked  it  up,  and  to  Nordica's  amaze 
ment  she  recognized  her  own  picture.  While  her 
carriage  turned  around,  I  waited  on  the  path,  and 
soon  my  idol  was  actually  allowing  me  to  talk  with 
48  ' 


PARIS 


her  and  renewing  once  more  the  interest  she  had 
shown  while  I  was  in  New  York. 

She  invited  me  to  come  and  sing  for  her  in  her 
beautiful  home  in  the  Bois,  and,  when  we  parted, 
she  handed  back  my  precious  talisman.  "Don't 
throw  it  away  again,"  she  said  with  a  smile. 

"But  it  has  brought  me  such  good  luck!"  I  re 
plied  happily. 

Next  day,  and  many  times  thereafter,  I  visited 
Madame  Nordica,  and  both  she  and  Mr.  Dome 
were  genuinely  interested  in  my  vocal  welfare.  The 
question  of  my  future  was  discussed,  and,  contrary 
to  the  idea  I  had  of  going  to  Italy  and  following 
the  usual  procedure  of  enlisting  in  a  provincial 
theater  there  for  experience,  Mr.  Dome  suggested 
my  studying  with  a  Russian-Italian,  Graziani,  in 
Berlin,  whose  book  upon  vocal  study  he  had  re 
cently  received  and  found  unusual  and  beneficial. 

I  was  not  at  all  keen  upon  abandoning  Italy  for 
Germany,  but  Madame  Nordica's  advice  was  para 
mount,  and,  armed  with  some  nice  letters  from  her 
to  various  friends  whom  she  had  learned  to  know 
during  her  triumphs  in  Bayreuth,  we  made  plans 
to  break  up  our  Paris  home. 


CHAPTER  VII 
GERMANY:  THE  TURNING-POINT 

I  SPENT  that  summer  of  1900  uneventfully  in  Brit 
tany,  and  in  the  early  autumn  off  we  started  for 
Berlin. 

This  was  another  turning-point  in  my  career. 
The  German  capital  was  to  further  as  dazzling  a 
future  as  my  heart  could  have  dreamed  —  and  with 
it  were  to  come  Romance,  Fame  and  Wealth  under 
the  shadow  of  the  Prussian  eagle's  wing. 

One  of  my  letters  from  Nordica  was  to  Frau  von 
Rath,  the  charming  wife  of  Herr  Adolph  von  Rath, 
the  leading  banker  of  Berlin.  Frau  von  Rath  main 
tained  one  of  the  most  beautiful  homes  in  the  Ger 
man  capital,  and  her  social  functions  were  attended 
by  leading  dignitaries  and  officials  of  the  Court. 
It  was  no  small  honor,  therefore,  to  have  the  entree 
to  her  receptions  and  to  have  her  take  an  interest 
in  the  little  American  girl  who  had  come  to  Berlin 
to  study  music. 

Graziani  proved  to  be  a  protege  of  Frau  von 
Rath,  and  through  her  I  met  this  strange  and  won 
derfully  gifted  man,  whose  early  death  cut  short  a 
5o 


GERMANY:    THE    TURNING-POINT 

brilliant  career.  He  proved  a  remarkable  teacher, 
and  I  profited  by  his  admirable  instruction  through 
out  that  first  winter  in  Berlin. 

One  day,  in  the  spring  of  1901,  Frau  von  Rath 
asked  me  if  I  could  sing  in  German. 

"No,  unfortunately  only  in  French  and  Italian," 
I  replied.  "I  came  to  Berlin  to  study,  but  I  never 
expect  to  sing  in  opera  here." 

"Would  you  like  to  sing  for  the  Intendant  of  the 
Royal  Opera?"  she  asked. 

The  Intendant  of  the  Royal  Opera  in  Berlin  is 
the  personal  representative  of  the  Kaiser.  He  has 
the  private  ear  of  the  sovereign,  and  is  supposed 
to  carry  out  his  wishes  in  the  conduct  of  the  Royal 
Opera.  To  please  him,  therefore,  would  be  a  very 
great  and  unusual  triumph. 

Would  I  like  to  sing  for  him?  It  is  easy  to  imag 
ine  my  reply. 

I  made  my  preparations  accordingly.  With  the 
care  which  I  have  always  bestowed  upon  my  cos 
tumes,  I  ordered  an  elaborate  blue  crepe-de-Chine 
evening  gown,  to  be  worn  with  pearls  and  dia 
monds.  I  carefully  studied  anew  the  waltz  song 
from  "Juliet,"  the  aria  from  "Traviata,"  and  the 
bird  song  from  "Pagliacci."  Suddenly,  to  my  con 
sternation,  Frau  von  Rath  notified  me  that  the 

5i 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


audience,  which  was  to  be  in  her  ballroom,  would 
have  to  be  held  in  the  afternoon  instead  of  the 
evening,  as  some  occasion  at  the  Palace  necessi 
tated  the  presence  of  the  Intendant  there  at  night. 

I  was  desolate;  but  I  agreed  to  sing,  first  begging 
Frau  von  Rath  to  draw  the  heavy  curtains  and  turn 
on  all  the  lights,  as  though  for  an  evening  function, 
so  that  I  could  wear  my  evening  gown  with  the 
pearls  and  the  diamonds.  I  can  remember  now  the 
suppressed  murmurs  of  "The  crazy  American! " 
when  I  appeared,  but  I  obtained  the  compliment 
of  immediate  attention  and  created  the  effect  I 
wished. 

The  Intendant  of  the  Royal  Opera  at  that  time 
was  Count  von  Hochberg,  a  charming,  courteous 
gentleman,  who  was  to  show  me  many  favors  after 
ward.  He  heard  me  through,  attended  by  a  score 
of  Frau  von  Rath's  friends,  and  then  asked  me 
gravely  if  I  had  ever  sung  with  an  orchestra.  I 
answered  truthfully:  "No." 

"Would  you  like  to  sing  with  the  orchestra  of  the 
Royal  Opera?"  he  inquired. 

"I  should  be  delighted,"  was  my  prompt  re 
sponse. 

"Do  you  sing  in  German?" 

"I  never  have  —  yet,"  I  replied. 

,52 


GERMANY:    THE    TURNING-POINT 

"Could  you  learn  to  sing  in  German  in  ten 
days?"  he  urged. 

"I  can  learn  something.  What  shall  it  be?" 

"Will  you  study  'Elsa's  Dream'?" 

"Yes—" 

"Then  in  ten  days,  at  the  Royal  Opera,  I  will 
hear  you  again."  He  bowed  and  took  his  departure. 

Feverishly  I  began  to  study  German,  aided  by 
my  dear  friend  and  teacher,  Fraulein  Wilcke,  to 
whose  guidance  these  many  years  I  owe  as  excellent 
a  German  diction  as  any  foreign  or  native  artist 
possesses. 

When  I  stepped  upon  the  stage  of  the  great 
empty  Konigliches  Opernhaus  and  looked  down 
into  the  Director's  seat,  whom  should  I  see  but  Dr. 
Karl  Muck,  now  the  Director  of  the  Boston  Sym 
phony  Orchestra.  That  was  the  beginning  of  a 
warm  friendship  which  has  endured  to  this  day,  for 
Dr.  Muck  was  at  all  times  kind  and  sympathetic 
during  those  early  days  in  Berlin. 

I  sang  the  waltz  from  "Romeo  and  Juliet,"  in 
French,  the  bird  song  from  "Pagliacci,"  in  Italian, 
and  "Elsa's  Dream,"  in  German.  I  finished  in  ab 
solute  silence,  as  Count  von  Hochberg  was  almost 
alone  in  the  darkened  auditorium.  Soon  he  came 
back  to  me  and  said :  — 

53 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


"  In  my  office  I  have  a  contract  with  you  for  three 
years.  Do  you  care  to  sign  it?" 

"But  I  had  no  idea  of  singing  in  Berlin,"  I  pro 
tested.  "I  want  to  sing  Italian." 

"  If  I  let  you  sing  here  in  Italian,  will  you  sign  it?  " 

"Here  —  in  Berlin  —  sing  in  Italian?"  I  gasped. 

"It  will  be  a  novelty,"  replied  Count  von  Hoch- 
berg.  "But  the  people  here  want  one.  You  are  very 
much  of  a  novelty,  quite  different  from  the  stout 
ladies  who  waddle  about  protesting  their  operatic 
fate  to  spectators  who  find  it  difficult  to  believe  in 
their  cruel  lot  and  youthful  innocence.  In  you  I 
have  discovered  a  happy  combination  of  voice, 
figure,  personality,  and  —  eyes."  He  was  some 
thing  of  a  cavalier,  that  nice  Count  von  Hochberg, 
as  you  will  see.  "To  secure  you  for  my  patrons  I 
will  let  you  sing  in  Italian." 

What  could  I  say?  It  was  the  greatest  compli 
ment  yet  paid  me.  I  glanced  around  the  Opern- 
haus,  hesitating.  Then  —  I  consented.  The  legal 
contract  for  three  years  was  signed  by  my  mother 
and  father  for  me,  as  I  was  still  under  age.  It  was 
agreed  that  I  was  to  sing  "Faust,"  "Traviata,"  and 
"Pagliacci,"  three  roles,  in  Italian,  but  I  was  not 
to  be  required  to  sing  in  German  until  I  should 
perfect  myself  in  the  language. 
54 


GERMANY:    THE    TURNING-POINT 

Then  ensued  a  spring  and  summer  of  great  prep 
arations,  for  my  contract  did  not  begin  until  the 
following  autumn.  We  went  to  Lake  Constance, 
Switzerland,  to  study  with  Graziani.  I  was  as  thin 
as  a  young  girl  could  well  afford  to  be,  yet  I  worked 
to  the  full  limit  of  my  strength,  for  I  realized  that 
my  wonderful  opportunity  had  at  last  arrived. 
I  literally  floated  on  air  that  summer. 

Then,  too,  I  had  planned  a  surprise  that  would 
especially  please  the  women  :  the  matter  of  dress. 
There  lives  in  Paris  an  artist  to  her  finger-tips  in 
the  matter  of  creating  stage  frocks,  and  that  won 
derful  woman  has  made  every  costume  from  head 
to  feet  that  I  have  ever  put  on  in  the  theater.  She 
had  already  "combined  me"  such  lovely  things  as 
made  my  heart  thrill  to  appear  in  them! 

The  night  of  October  15,  1901,  was  my  debut  at 
the  Royal  Opera,  Berlin.  There  was  no  advance 
notice,  no  presswork.  The  bill  bore  the  usual  three 
asterisks  in  this  wise,  as  I  was  a  "guest"  and  not  a 
member  of  the  company:  — 


MARGUERITE 


At  the  bottom  of  the  programme,  in  small  type, 
the  three  asterisks  were  repeated,  and  the  line:  — 

***  MISS  GERALDINE  FARRAR  AUS  NEW  YORK 

55 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


In  the  simplest  of  dainty  blue  crepe-de-Chine 
frocks,  with  a  lace  bonnet  over  blond  curls,  "Mar 
guerite"  Farrar  tripped  engagingly  down  to  the 
footlights  with  a  shy  glance  of  inquiry  to  the  ardent 
"Faust"  who  commenced  so  successful  a  wooing 
with  "May  I  give  you  my  arm? "  —  and  everybody 
felt  at  that  moment  how  regretful  "Marguerite" 
Farrar  was,  that  the  exigencies  of  the  opera  did 
not  permit  a  courteous  acceptance  of  so  charming 
a  support  to  her  gateway. 

I  remember  that  Dr.  Muck  conducted  divinely; 
that  I  was  very  happy  and  self-possessed,  and  my 
mother  said  I  looked  like  an  angel.  I  had  at  last 
made  my  debut. 

The  following  morning  the  criticisms  were  so 
splendid  that  I  told  my  mother  I  would  never  get 
any  more  to  equal  them —  and  I  did  not  for  a  long 
time.  Instantly  after  my  success  the  hammers 
came  out.  The  idea  of  letting  an  American  girl  sing 
in  Italian  in  the  sacred  Royal  Opera  House  —  it 
was  preposterous !  Count  von  Hochberg  was  mildly 
censured  by  the  press  for  permitting  such  proceed 
ings.  Nevertheless,  the  fact  remained  that  I  had 
scored  a  success  on  my  debut;  the  audience  had  re 
ceived  favorably  a  "Marguerite"  who  was  neither 
fat  nor  forty,  and  the  newspaper  critics  had 
56 


"MY  THIRD  SEASON  OPENED  IN  TRAVIATA " 


GERMANY:    THE    TURNING-POINT 

united  in  giving  me  a  most  enthusiastic  verdict  of 
approval. 

Naturally  after  such  a  success  I  expected  to  be 
called  upon  again  very  soon,  but  many  weeks 
passed  and  still  my  name  was  not  included  in  the 
published  casts  given  out  from  week  to  week.  Fin 
ally  I  determined  to  find  out  the  reason  for  this 
neglect,  so  I  called  on  Count  von  Hochberg  in  his 
private  office  at  the  opera. 

"Good-evening,  Your  Excellency,"  I  remarked 
pleasantly.  "  I  have  just  looked  over  the  billboards 
and  I  don't  see  my  name  included  in  next  week's 
repertoire." 

There  was  a  moment  of  embarrassment,  then  I 
continued :  — 

"I  merely  wondered  why  I  don't  sing,"  adding, 
"Of  course,  if  Berlin  does  n't  want  me  I  should  like 
to  know  it." 

Count  von  Hochberg  murmured  something  about 
giving  me  an  answer  the  next  day,  but  I  insisted  I 
must  know  that  night. 

"Very  well,  then,  Fraulein,"  replied  Count  von 
Hochberg  positively.  "Within  ten  days  you  will 
sing  here." 

Fate  was  ever  watchful  over  me,  and  soon  I  was 
notified  that  "Traviata"  was  to  be  revived  for  me. 

57 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


What  fun  I  had  in  composing  the  adorable  role 
of  Camille.  And  then,  too,  I  was  all  afire  with  mem 
ories  of  the  great  Sarah  as  Marguerite  Gauthier. 
I  had  heard  famous  prima  donnas  in  "Traviata," 
but  few,  other  than  the  emotional  Bellincioni,  had 
ever  successfully  acted  the  operatic  heroine.  I  was 
allowed  to  eliminate  much  of  the  stilted  traditional 
settings,  and,  with  modern  scenery  and  sumptuous 
dressing,  I  played  this  role  so  that  it  immediately 
became  one  of  my  most  popular  successes.  In  the 
romantic  and  handsome  Franz  Naval  I  had  an 
inspiring  partner.  Our  artistic  connection  was  to 
endure  many  years,  and  we  have  left  behind  us,  I 
can  truthfully  say,  very  beautiful  memories  in  the 
hearts  of  our  loyal  German  public.  I  particularly 
recall  our  joint  successes  in  "Romeo,"  "Mignon," 
"Manon,"  "Faust,"  "The  Black  Domino,"  and 
such  poetic  operas. 

By  this  time  rumors  of  the  "crazy  American" 
had  spread  over  Berlin,  together  with  reports  that 
she  was  young,  slender  and,  some  said,  beautiful. 
And  then  there  were  —  eyes !  The  result  was  a  not 
able  increase  in  attendance  of  smart  young  offi 
cers  and  Court  society.  The  Intendant  arranged 
matters  so  that  I  sang  quite  frequently  during  the 
rest  of  my  first  season. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

IMPERIAL  ENCOURAGEMENT 

IT  was  not  until  my  second  season  at  the  Royal 
Opera  that  I  saw  or  met  the  Kaiser.  The  Court  had 
been  in  half-mourning  during  my  first  season,  and 
members  of  the  royal  family  had  not  visited  the 
opera  house.  In  January,  1903,  the  middle  of  my 
second  season,  a  Hofmarshal  from  the  Palace  pre 
sented  himself  at  our  apartment  and  officially 
"commanded"  my  presence  at  the  Palace  that 
night.  I  was  notified  that  I  must  wear  the  pre 
scribed  Court  dress,  either  lavender  or  black,  with 
gloves  and  no  jewelry. 

The  Hofmarshal,  having  delivered  his  message, 
was  about  to  depart  when  I  called  him  back. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  I  said  meekly,  "but  I  never 
wear  black  and  I  never  wear  lavender.  Neither 
color  is  becoming  to  me." 

"But  it  is  the  custom  of  the  Court  — "  he  began. 

"It  is  my  custom,"  I  replied  firmly,  "to  wear 
what  I  choose  when  I  sing,  and  according  to  my 
mood;  and  I  choose  to  wear  white.  Furthermore 
I  never  wear  gloves  while  singing." 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


The  Hofmarshal  was  greatly  disturbed.  He  was 
afraid  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  be  received 
at  the  Palace  unless  I  conformed  to  the  usual  re 
quirements.  However,  he  would  see;  I  would  be 
notified.  And  later  that  afternoon  came  the  mes 
sage  that  "Miss  Farrar  could  wear  whatever  she 
desired,  but  she  must  come."  I  wore  white. 

My  mother  and  I  drove  to  the  Palace  together; 
we  were  formally  received  by  various  flunkies  and 
under-attaches,  and  finally  escorted  up  the  magnifi 
cent  staircase  to  the  reception  room  just  off  the 
White  Hall,  where  the  Kaiser  and  the  Kaiserin  were 
with  the  Diplomatic  Corps  after  dinner. 

At  the  proper  moment  I  was  announced.  After 
I  had  sung,  and  had  responded  to  an  encore,  the 
Kaiser  arose  from  his  place  and  congratulated  me. 
He  then  turned  and  shook  hands  with  my  mother, 
after  which  we  were  led  to  the  Kaiserin  and  for 
mally  presented  to  her.  In  turn  we  were  made 
acquainted  with  the  various  notables  present. 

That  meeting  was  the  forerunner  of  many  pleas 
ant  social  gatherings  at  the  Palace,  when  mother 
and  I  were  honored  guests.  His  Majesty  was  ex 
ceedingly  kind  to  us,  and  seemed  to  like  to  hear  me 
sing.  It  was  on  the  occasion  of  one  of  these  visits 
to  the  Palace  that  I  met  the  Crown  Prince  for  the 
60 


MISS  FARRAR  AT  FRAU  VON  RATH'S 


IMPERIAL    ENCOURAGEMENT 

first  time.  He  had  been  away  at  school  at  Bonn, 
and  came  in  one  evening  with  several  of  his  broth 
ers.  I  was  naturally  interested  in  the  personality 
of  the  heir  to  the  throne,  and  spoke  to  him  at  some 
length.  I  liked  him  at  once,  and  found  him  very  gay 
and  sympathetic. 

One  night  at  the  opera  he  sat  in  the  royal  box, 
and  between  the  acts,  so  I  was  told,  wished  to  come 
behind  the  scenes  to  speak  to  me.  The  rule  against 
visitors  is  rigidly  enforced  at  the  Royal  Opera,  and 
His  Highness  was  so  informed.  He  thereupon  re 
turned  to  the  royal  box.  After  the  performance  he 
again  made  an  effort  to  call  behind  the  scenes,  but 
was  not  permitted.  However,  later  that  same  even 
ing,  he  sent  me  a  hastily  scribbled  message  written 
upon  a  card  showing  the  Palace  gardens,  reading: 

You  played  very  well  to-night.  —  WILHELM. 

I  still  have  the  card. 

About  this  time  I  first  met  Madame  Lilli  Leh- 
mann,  to  whose  far-reaching  influence  I  attribute 
much  of  the  success  which  has  come  to  me.  I  felt 
the  need  of  the  careful  instruction  of  a  master.  Of 
course,  the  idol  of  music-loving  Germany  was  then, 
as  now,  Lilli  Lehmann.  I  wrote  to  her,  asking  if  I 
could  sing  for  her  with  the  idea  of  becoming  her 

61 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


pupil.  There  was  no  answer.  Lilli,  with  her  ex 
tensive  correspondence  and  active  life,  was  prob 
ably  too  busy  to  consider  such  a  matter  as  a  new 
pupil.  Then  my  mother  wrote.  In  reply  came  a 
very  concise  and  businesslike  communication.  Yes, 
Lilli  had  received  the  letter  from  me,  but,  owing 
to  my  eccentric  handwriting,  had  been  unable  to 
decipher  it.  My  mother's  penmanship  was  clearer, 
and  so  Lilli  wrote  that  she  would  be  willing  to  hear 
me  sing,  without  promising  to  accept  me  as  her 
pupil,  however. 

An  appointment  was  made  for  us  to  call  at  half- 
past  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  at  her  home  in 
Grunewald,  half  an  hour's  ride  from  Berlin,  and, 
though  the  day  was  cold  and  wintry,  my  mother 
and  I  were  there  promptly  on  time. 

Beautiful  Lilli  Lehmann  —  stately  and  serene  as 
a  queen;  with  a  wonderful  personality  which  seemed 
naturally  to  dominate  every  presence  in  the  room; 
past  the  meridian  of  life  yet  with  an  unbroken  rec 
ord  of  world  achievement  behind  her;  greatest  liv 
ing  exponent  of  Mozart,  of  Brahms,  of  Liszt,  of 
Wagner  —  what  more  can  I  say  of  her  than  that 
I  approached  her  with  the  deference  and  respect 
which  were  her  due?  I  was  an  eager  and  humble 
beginner;  she  of  another  generation.  My  desire 
62 


"BEAUTIFUL  LILLI  LEHMANN,   STATELY  AND  SERENE 


IMPERIAL    ENCOURAGEMENT 

to  secure  her  as  my  instructor  seemed  almost  pre 
sumptuous;  yet,  after  hearing  me  sing,  Lilli  kindly 
consented  to  take  me,  and  I  am  happy  and  proud 
to  state  that  I  have  been  her  pupil  at  all  times 
since  that  first  meeting. 

Lilli  insisted  that  I  should  essay  one  Wagnerian 
role.  Under  her  direction  I  studied  Elizabeth  in 
"Tannhauser,"  and  the  night  I  made  my  first  ap 
pearance  in  this  role  in  Berlin  was  a  memorable 
occasion  for  both  of  us.  The  entire  royal  family 
was  present,  and  Lilli  sat  in  a  loge  with  my  mo 
ther.  I  should  explain  that  Lilli,  who  had  been  a 
notable  member  of  the  Royal  Opera  for  many 
years  prior  to  her  American  successes,  had  had 
differences  with  the  direction  of  the  Royal  Opera 
during  the  years  of  her  tremendous  popularity  in 
America,  and  had  followed  her  own  sweet  will  by  re 
maining  here  several  seasons  without  receiving  the 
necessary  permission  from  the  Intendant  to  do  so. 

As  a  result,  upon  her  return  to  Germany  she  had 
not  been  summoned  to  resume  her  roles  at  the 
Royal  Opera.  This  condition  of  affairs,  I  believe, 
had  existed  for  some  time,  Lilli,  with  the  pride 
and  independence  of  a  great  artist,  scorning  to  make 
the  first  advances  leading  to  her  return. 

On  the  night  of  my  appearance  as  Elizabeth, 

63 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


after  I  had  scored  a  really  great  success,  the  Kaiser 
summoned  me  to  the  royal  box  to  congratulate  me. 
He  knew  that  I  had  studied  the  role  under  Lilli's 
direction.  He  therefore  summoned  Lilli  as  well, 
complimented  her  upon  her  pupil's  achievement 
and  then  and  there  requested  her  to  sing  as  guest 
artist  at  the  Royal  Opera,  which  she  did  a  few 
weeks  later. 

It  was  a  great  and  happy  night  for  me,  and  I 
believe  for  Lilli  also. 

Dimly  connected  with  this  period  I  remember 
various  young  gentlemen  showing  me  attentions. 
There  was  a  baron  who  mysteriously  sent  gifts  con 
cealed  in  flowers,  with  very  charming  poems  writ 
ten  about  the  difficult  roles  I  was  playing.  It  was 
some  time  before  I  found  out  who  he  was  and  could 
return  his  trinkets,  with  the  request  that  he  cease 
sending  presents  to  me.  However,  he  continued  to 
write  me  pathetic  letters  for  several  years  after 
ward.  But  I  was  thrilled  and  enthusiastic  over  my 
career,  and  had  no  serious  thoughts  for  love-making 
or.  matrimony.  I  wished  to  devote  all  my  time  and 
energy  to  my  work. 

But  no  artist  can  hope  to  escape  permanently 
the  evil  tongue  and  jealousy  of  those  who  envy 
her  the  success  she  has  won.  Thus  it  happened  that 
64 


THE    CROWN   PRINCE   OF  GERMANY 


IMPERIAL    ENCOURAGEMENT 

the  sudden  interest  in  grand  opera  manifested  by 
the  Crown  Prince  was  made  the  baseless  pretext  of 
a  wild  rumor  of  the  romantic  attachment  of  the 
youthful  heir  for  a  certain  American  prima  donna 
singing  at  the  Royal  Opera.  As  I  happened  to  be 
the  only  prima  donna  to  conform  to  the  description, 
I  was  the  unconscious  victim  of  many  canards. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  the  Crown  Prince, 
just  out  of  college,  fond  of  music  at  all  times,  was 
enjoying  his  first  season  of  opera.  That  I  happened 
to  be  the  only  young  prima  donna  at  the  opera 
house  may  be  one  reason  why  he  attended  every 
time  I  sang,  and  ignored  other  performances.  At 
any  rate,  it  annoyed  the  other  singers  greatly,  but 
it  created  no  end  of  interest  in  my  performances 
and  in  no  way  disturbed  my  equanimity.  I  felt  it 
was  all  part  of  the  career. 

I  was  young,  triumphant,  happy  in  my  singing, 
and  making  rapid  strides  toward  an  international 
reputation,  and  at  the  back  of  my  brain  was  written, 
with  determination,  the  ultimate  goal:  the  Metro 
politan  Opera  House  at  New  York.  So  I  pursued 
my  studies  with  zest  and  unabated  enthusiasm. 

Soon  afterward  I  realized  from  vague  storm- 
clouds  and  distant  mutterings  that  trouble  was 
brewing.  Certain  minor  officials  of  the  Royal 

65 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


Opera  put  their  heads  together  with  certain  singers; 
rumors  that  too  much  attention  was  paid  to  the 
American  singer  by  royalty  were  printed  in  one 
of  the  papers;  whereupon  my  father  (remember  he 
was  once  a  ball-player  and  is  still  a  great  athlete) 
retaliated  by  a  physical  reminder  to  one  editor  that 
such  slanders  are  not  circulated  with  impunity 
about  young  American  women.  The  press  caught 
the  romance  of  the  situation,  and  highly  colored 
stories  were  the  result. 

The  climax  of  a  series  of  petty  annoyances  came 
one  night  when  my  mother  was  denied  permission 
to  accompany  me  behind  the  scenes,  as  she  had 
been  doing  at  every  performance  for  almost  two 
years. 

In  my  anger  at  these  sensational  reports,  and  at 
the  sudden  discourtesy  to  my  mother  at  the  opera 
house,  I  determined  to  write  to  the  Kaiser  a  per 
sonal  letter  of  explanation.  This  letter  was  en 
trusted  to  my  devoted  friend,  Herr  von  Rath,  to 
be  delivered  by  him  personally  to  the  Hofmarshal, 
who  would  see  that  it  reached  the  Kaiser. 

Those  well-wishers  who  had  been  freely  predict 
ing  that  I  would  soon  be  requested  to  resign  and 
"go  over  the  border"  because  of  the  rumors  re 
garding  the  Crown  Prince  (one  newspaper  even 
66 


THE  CROWN  PRINCESS  OF  GERMANY 


IMPERIAL    ENCOURAGEMENT 

asserted  that  he  wished  to  relinquish  his  right  to 
the  succession  to  the  throne  in  order  to  marry  the 
American  singer!)  were  soon  thrown  into  conster 
nation  when  one  of  the  royal  carriages  stopped  in 
front  of  my  door,  to  bring  official  notification  from 
the  Kaiser  that  he  had  ordered  restored  to  my 
mother  the  privilege  of  accompanying  me  at  any 
time  behind  the  scenes  at  the  Royal  Opera. 

The  envious  tongues  stopped  wagging.  Official 
Berlin  society  took  its  cue.  It  was  understood  that 
I  was  not  to  leave  Germany. 

I  determined  that  since  Berlin  had  been  the  city 
first  to  take  me  to  its  heart,  Berlin  should  be  my 
parent  house.  From  there  I  might  try  to  reach 
out  for  other  worlds  to  conquer,  but  Berlin  should 
be  my  base  for  an  international  career.  And  so 
firmly  did  I  adhere  to  this  decision  that,  when  my 
first  contract  with  the  Royal  Opera  expired,  I  re 
newed  it  again  and  again,  with  special  permission 
from  His  Majesty  for  my  European  and  subsequent 
American  arrangements. 


CHAPTER  IX 

ON  TOUR*.  MONTE  CARLO  AND   STOCKHOLM 

IN  discussing  the  plans  for  my  third  season  at  the 
Berlin  Opera,  it  had  been  decided  that  I  should 
create  Massenet's  "Manon."  I  determined  to 
meet  Massenet,  if  possible,  in  order  to  get  all  possi 
ble  suggestions  for  the  role.  This  was  accomplished 
through  the  Baroness  de  Hegermann-Lindencrone, 
formerly  Lillie  Greenough,  of  Boston,  who  was  the 
wife  of  the  Danish  Ambassador  to  Berlin.  I  went  to 
Paris,  and  on  May  26,  1903,  I  called  on  the  com 
poser  at  his  suburban  home  near  the  French  capi 
tal,  where  I  found  him  in  tears.  It  was  the  day 
after  the  funeral  of  Sybil  Sanderson,  the  American 
singer  who  had  won  such  success  abroad,  and  Mas 
senet  wept  at  the  loss  of  such  a  delightful  artist 
and  friend,  who  had  created  so  many  of  his  roles. 
Several  days  later,  when  he  was  more  composed, 
I  saw  him  again.  He  was  kind  and  sympathetic, 
and  I  studied  with  him  with  enthusiasm.  He  was 
most  interested  in  the  Berlin  production,  and  quite 
amused  at  the  German  translation  of  the  French 
text  which  Lilli  and  I  had  revised. 
68 


.> 


\  *~* 


MONTE    CARLO    AND    STOCKHOLM 

During  this  visit  to  Paris  it  was  arranged  that  I 
should  sing  for  Gailhard,  the  Director  of  the  Paris 
Opera,  and  at  this  audience  were  three  other  not 
able  directors  who  were  destined  to  figure  in  my 
career.  There  was  Maurice  Grau,  already  relin 
quishing  the  reins  of  management  in  New  York, 
but  still  hoping,  he  said,  to  take  me  back  to 
America  as  an  operatic  star  in  the  near  future; 
there  was  Heinrich  Conried,  his  successor,  whom  I 
then  met  for  the  first  time;  and  there  was  Raoul 
Gunsberg,  the  Director  of  the  Opera  at  Monte 
Carlo.  Gailhard  offered  me  a  flattering  engagement 
at  the  Paris  Opera,  but  I  explained  that  I  was  under 
contract  for  at  least  one  more  year  in  Berlin.  Guns- 
berg  was  very  enthusiastic  in  his  praise;  Conried 
was  quiet  and  formal.  If  I  made  any  impression 
on  him,  he  gave  no  indication  of  it. 

My  third  season  in  Berlin  opened  November  14, 
1905,  in  "Traviata,"  when  I  had  my  usual  charm 
ing  partner  in  Franz  Naval.  I  now  sang  all  of  my 
roles  in  German  save  "Traviata,"  and,  in  deference 
to  me,  all  the  company  sang  "Traviata"  in  Italian, 
which  I  thought  a  pretty  compliment. 

The  Berlin  premiere  of  "Manon"  took  place  on 
December  1,  1903,  and  was  a  wild  riot  of  enthusi 
asm,  but  my  best  reward  was  a  large  photo  of  Lilli 

69 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


with  half  a  yard  of  dedication  written  underneath. 
By  this  time  —  the  middle  of  my  third  season  in 
Berlin  —  I  had  become  quite  well  known  in  certain 
operatic  circles;  I  had  sung  in  Paris  for  four  big 
directors;  I  had  won  the  real  affection  and  regard 
of  the  opera-goers  of  Berlin;  I  was  now  Die  Farrar 
aus  Berlin,  and  the  Berlin  public  owned  me. 

Herr  Gunsberg,  at  Monte  Carlo,  always  on  the 
lookout  for  novelty,  decided  he  must  have  the 
American  prima  donna  who  was  attracting  so  much 
attention  in  Berlin.  One  morning  in  midwinter  I 
received  this  characteristic  telegram  from  him:  — 

Offer  you  debut  Boheme  or  Pagliacci.  If  you  ac 
cept  this  telegram  serves  as  contract.  Four  thousand 
francs  a  night. 

Eight  hundred  dollars  a  night!  It  was  indeed  a 
fine  offer.  I  replied  at  once:  — 

Boheme.    When  shall  I  come? 

I  had  visions  already  of  international  triumphs. 
Monte  Carlo,  the  show-place  of  the  world!  From 
there  it  was  only  a  step  to  the  leading  capitals  of 
Europe.  Yet  I  had  no  wish  to  leave  my  beloved 
Berlin  permanently.  Therefore,  in  renewing  my 
contract  with  the  Intendant  of  the  Berlin  Opera  (a 
contract,  by  the  way,  which  is  still  in  force),  it  was 
70 


MONTE    CARLO    AND    STOCKHOLM 

stipulated  that  I  was  to  sing  so  many  performances 
each  season  in  Berlin  unless  excused  by  special 
arrangement;  that  I  should  have  leave  of  absence 
whenever  requested  under  certain  conditions;  but 
that  at  all  times  I  should  be  subject  to  the  rules 
and  regulations  of  the  Royal  Opera  in  Berlin. 

I  remember  discussing  the  subject  with  His  Maj 
esty  on  one  occasion  when  we  were  entertained  at 
the  Palace  prior  to  my  departure.  I  had  asked  (and 
received)  permission  for  rather  an  unusual  amount 
of  leave  of  absence,  and  the  Intendant,  who  usually 
conveyed  such  a  request  to  His  Majesty  on  my 
behalf,  said  this  time  he  really  did  not  have  the 
courage  to  ask  again  so  soon. 

"Very  well,"  said  I  laughingly,  "I  will  ask  him 
myself,  to  spare  you  the  embarrassment." 

"But  why  should  you  wish  to  leave  Berlin?" 
inquired  the  Kaiser.  "We  are  glad  to  have  you 
with  us;  we  admire  you;  we  love  you.  What  more 
can  you  gain  elsewhere?" 

"Pardon  me,  Your  Majesty,"  I  replied  gayly. 
"Already  I  have  become  accustomed  as  a  spoiled 
prima  donna  of  luxurious  habits  to  ride  in  automo 
biles,  and  I  don't  wish  to  have  to  walk  when  I  am 
an  old  lady  and  when  this"  (touching  my  throat 
significantly)  "has  ceased  to  interest  the  public. 

71 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


In  the  words  of  the  great  Napoleon,  Your  Majesty, 
'Beyond  the  Alps  lies  Italy.'  Yes,  and  there  is  a 
white  chateau  by  the  sea  where  the  golden  shower 
is  just  waiting  to  be  coaxed  into  my  pockets.  May 
I  not  then  go  and  sing  a  little  among  the  palms  and 
the  flowers?" 
I  went. 

Ah,  that  first  rehearsal  of  "Boheme"  in  Monte 
Carlo,  in  March,  1904!  I  was  introduced  for  the 
first  time  to  a  tenor  of  whom  I  had  never  heard 
before.  He  was  somewhat  stout,  not  over-tall,  but 
with  a  wonderful  voice  and  a  winning  smile.  His 
name  was  Enrico  Caruso.  It  was  his  debut  in 
Monte  Carlo.  He  had  sung  in  Milan,  in  South 
America,'  and  the  preceding  winter  in  New  York. 
But  he  had  not  then  attained  even  a  small  part  of 
his  present  great  fame. 

At  this  first  rehearsal  in  Monte  Carlo  an  inter 
ested  listener  was  Jean  de  Reszke,  who  was  kind 
enough  to  say  that  he  remembered  me  as  the  little 
Boston  girl  who  had  sung  for  him  some  years  previ 
ously,  and  that  he  was  delighted  to  see  that  I  was 
meeting  with  the  success  he  had  predicted. 

My  Monte  Carlo  debut  occurred  on  the  night  of 
March  10,  1904.  Although  I  had  rehearsed  with 
72 


ENRICO  CARUSO 


MONTE    CARLO    AND    STOCKHOLM 

Caruso,  the  tenor  had  never  used  his  voice  fully  at 
the  rehearsals,  and  on  the  night  of  the  actual  per 
formance,  when  I  heard  those  rich  and  glorious 
tones  rise  above  the  orchestra,  I  was  literally 
stricken  dumb  with  amazement  and  admiration.  I 
forgot  that  I,  too,  was  making  a  debut,  that  I  was 
on  the  stage  of  the  Opera  House,  until  the  con 
ductor,  Vigna,  rapped  sharply  with  his  baton  to 
bring  me  back  to  my  senses.  Then  I  put  forth  every 
ounce  of  strength  to  match  if  possible  that  mar 
velous  voice  singing  opposite  to  me.  I  copy  the 
following  extract  verbatim  from  my  diary  of  that 
night:  — 

Tremendous  reception  on  my  debut.  After  the 
third  act,  and  in  full  view  of  the  audience,  Caruso 
lifted  me  bodily  and  carried  me  to  my  dressing-room 
in  the  general  wave  of  enthusiasm. 

The  Monte  Carlo  engagement  was  limited,  and 
on  March  28, 1  reappeared  in  Berlin,  being  received 
so  cordially  that  I  then  and  there  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  would  never  leave  Berlin  for  good.  The  re 
ports  of  the  Monte  Carlo  engagement  led  directly 
to  a  most  flattering  offer  from  Stockholm,  and  on 
May  6 1  arrived  in  the  Swedish  capital.  My  mother, 
of  course,  was  with  me  on  all  my  travels. 

My  debut,  which  took  place  on  the  evening  of 

73 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


May  9,  was  as  Marguerite  in  "Faust."  It  was  an 
enthusiastic,  sympathetic  audience  headed  by  the 
venerable  and  adorable  King  Oscar.  An  incident 
of  the  performance  worth  recording  is  that  I  sang 
opposite  to  Herr  Odman,  the  tenor,  who  had  sung 
as  a  young  man  with  Jenny  Lind  and  Christine 
Nilsson.  He  was  then  almost  sixty  years  old,  but 
he  gave  a  most  interesting  performance  and  was  ex 
tremely  vain  of  his  figure  in  "Romeo"  and  "Faust." 
I  must  say  he  would  put  many  a  younger  man 
to  shame  in  the  costume  of  this  romantic  period, 
withal  being  a  sweet  singer  and  excellent  artist. 

Two  days  after  my  debut  the  Royal  Intendant 
of  the  Opera  called  to  notify  me  that  the  King 
would  be  glad  to  receive  me  at  a  special  audience. 
The  royal  carriage  was  sent  to  the  hotel  for  us;  my 
mother  and  I  drove  first  to  the  Palace  in  Stock 
holm,  and  then,  after  we  had  been  cordially  re 
ceived  by  His  Majesty,  the  King  invited  us  to  go 
with  him  and  inspect  a  beautiful  suburban  castle 
just  outside  of  Stockholm,  which  is  one  of  the  show- 
places  of  the  world.  His  Majesty  had  known  and 
admired  Lilli  Lehmann,  and  one  reason  for  the  per 
sonal  interest  he  took  in  me  was  because  he  knew  I 
was  Lilli's  pupil. 

On  the  last  night  of  the  Stockholm  season  I  sang 
74 


THE  VENERABLE  AND  ADORABLE  KING  OSCAR 


M:ONTE  CARLO  AND  STOCKHOLM 

"Traviata"  before  a  packed  and  enthusiastic  house. 
His  Majesty  was  present  as  usual.  He  never  missed 
a  performance  while  I  sang  in  Stockholm.  During 
the  performance  the  Intendant  notified  me  that 
His  Majesty  desired  to  receive  me  at  the  Palace 
after  the  performance  at  a  special  audience.  Won 
dering  and  surprised,  my  mother  and  I  drove  to  the 
Palace  in  obedience  to  the  royal  command.  We 
were  ushered  into  a  small  audience  chamber,  where 
perhaps  two  dozen  members  of  the  Court  were 
already  in  waiting. 

Presently  His  Majesty  entered  and,  with  a  few 
words,  decorated  me  with  the  gold  cross  of  the  Or 
der  of  Merit,  which  he  personally  pinned  upon  my 
gown.  He  explained  at  the  time  that  only  two 
other  singers  had  previously  received  this  honor  — 
Melba  and  Nilsson. 

After  that  there  was  a  real  Swedish  celebration 
of  farewell  which  lasted  until  long  past  midnight  — 
only,  as  the  nights  were  almost  as  bright  as  day 
in  that  far  northern  country,  it  was  difficult  to  tell 
the  time.  I  remember  that  after  supper  I  suddenly 
recalled  that  Caruso  had  written,  asking  me  to  se 
cure  him  a  complete  set  of  Swedish  stamps,  as  he 
was  a  postage-stamp  fiend.  When  I  told  His  Maj 
esty  of  this,  the  King  sent  out  and  secured  a  com- 

75 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


plete  set  of  stamps,  which  I  forwarded  to  Enrico 
with  the  compliments  of  the  King  of  Sweden. 

As  I  was  leaving  and  saying  farewell,  for  we  were 
to  go  on  the  morrow,  His  Majesty  said :  "Next  year, 
Mademoiselle  Farrar,  you  must  sing  again  in  Stock 
holm." 

"I  shall  be  delighted,  Your  Majesty,"  I  replied. 

"Meanwhile,  you  sing  only  in  Berlin?" 

"Oh,  no,"  I  answered,  "I  have  been  offered  a 
reengagement  for  Monte  Carlo  next  March." 

"Monte  Carlo,  eh?"  And  His  Majesty  laughed. 
"My  dear  Mademoiselle  Farrar,  my  physician  has 
been  urging  me  to  visit  Monte  Carlo.  I  shall  time 
my  trip  so  that  I  shall  be  sure  to  hear  you  sing 
there." 

What  a  perfect  darling  old  King  Oscar  was! 


CHAPTER  X 

MY  FOURTH   SEASON 

THE  month  of  June  found  me  in  Paris,  where  I  sang 
at  a  charity  concert,  and  in  August  I  went  to  Bay- 
reuth  for  the  first  time  and  was  greatly  moved  by 
"Parsifal."  On  August  12  my  diary  says:  "To-day 
I  placed  a  laurel  wreath  on  the  grave  of  Liszt." 

In  October,  1904,  before  the  opening  of  the  regu 
lar  season  in  Berlin,  I  went  to  fulfill  a  special  en 
gagement  in  Warsaw.  An  incident  characteristic 
of  the  impetuous  Poles  occurred  on  the  train,  which 
resulted  in  more  than  a  year's  annoyance  of  rather 
an  amusing  character. 

My  mother  and  I  were  traveling  in  a  private 
compartment,  with  the  door  open  on  the  main  cor 
ridor  of  the  train.  A  tall,  handsome,  bearded  gen 
tleman  had  passed  that  door  no  less  than  a  dozen 
times.  Finally  he  passed  just  at  the  moment  when 
my  mother  wished  the  train  porter  to  change 
German  gold  into  Russian  money.  The  porter  did 
not  have  the  change.  Here  was  the  chance  of  the 
bearded  man's  lifetime.  He  projected  himself  into 
the  compartment,  he  made  the  change,  he  intro- 

77 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


duced  himself  gracefully,  and  calmly  announced 
that  he  knew  me  all  the  time  as  "Die  Farrar  aus 
Berlin"  the  singer,  and  he  wished  to  do  everything 
in  his  power  to  make  us  comfortable  during  our 
stay  in  Warsaw.  He  turned  out  to  be  Count  Ischki 
P ,  a  very  wealthy  nobleman  with  a  most  ro 
mantic  temperament  and  also  with  the  persistence 
of  fly-paper. 

We  could  not  disengage  ourselves  from  his  cour 
tesy  on  the  train,  and  he  became  doubly  irksome 
when  he  bombarded  my  apartments  in  the  Hotel 
Bristol,  —  the  magnificent  hostelry,  by  the  way, 
which  Paderewski  built  and  owns  in  Warsaw, — 
sending  me  flowers,  sweetmeats,  candies,  and  even 
attempting  to  send  me  jewelry.  The  poor  Count 
Ischki  wanted  me  to  look  with  favor  upon  his  suit. 
Never,  outside  the  pages  of  a  novel,  have  I  met 
any  one  quite  so  ardent,  in  so  many  languages. 

The  climax  came  one  afternoon  when  I  was  read 
ing  in  my  apartment. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door;  it  opened  in 
stantly,  and  in  came  a  procession  of  bell-boys  — 
each  carrying  flowers,  enormous  boxes  of  candy  or 
tributes  of  some  kind.  All  these  were  carefully  de 
posited  at  my  feet  without  a  word.  Then,'as  the  boys 
withdrew,  the  Count  Ischki  himself,  faultlessly 
78 


MY    FOURTH  SEASON 


dressed,  entered  and  threw  himself  upon  his  knees 
before  me  in  the  midst  of  his  offerings.  It  was  a  per 
fect  setting  for  the  stage.  I  had  all  I  could  do  to 
keep  serious  as  the  Polish  count  poured  out  the 
story  of  his  mad  love,  and  declared  that,  unless  I 
would  marry  him,  he  would  quickly  die  the  death  of 
a  madman. 

Gently  I  motioned  for  him  to  arise  and  depart 
"I  fear  I  am  only  a  cold,  heartless,  American  girl," 
I  replied.  "I  love  only  my  art,  and  I  shall  never 
marry  anybody." 

The  night  I  left  Warsaw  the  poor  Count  Ischki 
was  at  the  station  to  see  me  off,  and,  though  I  felt 
sorry  for  him,  I  was  happy  at  escaping  from  so 
trying  an  emotional  character.  For  almost  a  year, 
however,  he  followed  me  over  Europe,  popping  up 
most  unexpectedly  at  different  places,  always  with  a 
renewed  declaration  of  his  love.  His  attentions  at 
Monte  Carlo  finally  became  so  embarrassing  that 
I  threatened  to  appeal  to  the  police.  Then  he  ulti 
mately  accepted  his  conge,  and  I  was  relieved  of  this 
all-too-ardent  nobleman. 

The  season  of  1904-05  in  Berlin  (my  fourth  sea 
son)  was  made  notable  by  the  first  appearance  there 
of  Caruso,  who  made  his  debut  in  "Rigoletto." 
His  coming  created  a  great  sensation.  I  was  de- 

79 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


lighted  to  sing  opposite  him  again,  but  there  was 
a  complication  of  which  the  public  knew  nothing. 
With  the  "king  of  tenors"  singing  on  the  stage  with 
me,  I  knew  there  was  another — Franz  Naval  — 
who  had  sung  opposite  me  for  three  seasons,  sitting 
in  a  box  in  the  background.  However,  I  compro 
mised  with  the  two  by  usually  having  tea  with 
Franz  and  dinner  with  Enrico  during  his  stay  in 
Berlin,  and  the  artistic  world  rolled  smoothly  on. 

Many  interesting  things  happened  during  my 
fourth  season  in  Berlin.  For  one  thing  the  marriage 
of  the  Crown  Prince  to  the  Grand  Duchess  Cecile 
took  place,  thereby  permanently  putting  an  end 
to  the  little  annoyances  to  which  his  kindly  admi 
ration  of  me  as  an  artist  had  subjected  me.  I  am 
proud  and  happy  to  state  that  soon  after  the  return 
of  the  royal  couple  to  the  Palace  at  Potsdam,  I  was 
invited  to  sing  for  the  Crown  Princess  and,  as 
a  result  of  this  meeting,  a  cordial  and  friendly 
intimacy  sprang  up  between  us,  which  often  led 
to  informal  musicales  at  the  Palace  when  the 
Crown  Princess  played  the  piano,  the  Crown  Prince 
the  violin,  and  I  sang. 

The  spring  of  1905  found  me  once  more  in  Monte 
Carlo,  where  a  notable  performance  was  the  premi- 
lie,  of  Saint-Saens'  "L'Anetre,"  in  which  I  created 
80 


THE  AMUSING  MADAME  SANS  GENE1 


MY    FOURTH    SEASON 


the  role  of  Margarita.  During  this  spring  engage 
ment  I  created  another  role,  the  title  part  in  Mas- 
cagni's  "Arnica."  Preparations  for  the  opera  had 
been  well  under  way  for  some  time,  Calve  having 
been  engaged  for  Arnica.  Five  days  before  the 
premiere  she  withdrew  for  reasons  which  were 
never  explained  to  me.  Gunsberg  appealed  to  me 
as  a  favor  to  help  him  out,  if  possible,  and  create 
this  very  difficult  role.  I  agreed,  and,  by  work 
ing  day  and  night,  I  succeeded  in  preparing  it 
in  time  for  the  performance.  At  this  special  per 
formance  Gatti-Casazza,  who  was  then  Director 
of  La  Scala  at  Milan,  heard  me  sing  for  the  first 
time,  but  all  he  recalls,  he  says,  were  a  pair  of  eyes 
and  a  very  tempestuous  young  person. 

One  night  during  this  spring  season  in  Monte 
Carlo  I  caught  sight  of  a  familiar  face  in  the  re 
cesses  of  a  stage  box  and,  for  the  curtain  call,  I  made 
the  royal  salute  to  this  box.  After  the  curtain  fell, 
every  one  started  to  make  fun  of  me. 

"We  have  no  royalty  in  Monte  Carlo,"  one  said. 

"Pardon  me,"  I  replied,  "but  I  shall  always  give 
the  royal  salute  when  King  Oscar  of  Sweden  is  in 
the  audience." 

It  was,  indeed,  His  Majesty,  who  had  timed 
his  visit  to  Monte  Carlo  so  that  he  could  hear  me 

81 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


sing,  as  he  said  he  would.  The  next  morning  I 
read  in  the  newspapers  that  the  King  of  Sweden, 
traveling  incognito  as  Count  Haga,  was  visiting 
Monte  Carlo  as  the  guest  of  the  Prince  of  Monaco. 

In  Monte  Carlo  even  royalty  mingles  with  the 
crowd,  and  so  it  happened  that  later  in  the  day  I 
encountered  His  Majesty  strolling  along  in  a  smart 
gray  suit,  with  an  Alpine  hat  and  stick,  looking  for 
all  the  world  like  some  prosperous  American  banker 
seeing  Europe  on  a  vacation.  His  Majesty  was 
kind  enough  to  entertain  both  my  mother  and  me 
at  dinner  several  times  during  this  engagement  in 
Monte  Carlo. 

The  fact  that  I  created  the  title  role  in  "Arnica" 
in  five  days  was  duly  telegraphed  to  Paris  and 
other  cities,  and  led  directly  to  a  most  spectacular 
engagement  in  the  French  capital,  which  must  be 
recorded  as  my  Parisian  debut.  A  certain  Count 
Camondo,  a  wealthy  patron  of  the  arts  who  made 
Paris  his  home,  had  written  the  music  to  an  operatic 
libretto  by  Victor  Capoul,  entitled  "The  Clown." 
Count  Camondo  came  to  Monte  Carlo,  engaged  the 
entire  Monte  Carlo  Opera  Company  —  including 
me,  as  I  had  special  leave  of  absence  from  the 
Kaiser  for  the  occasion  —  at  an  exorbitant  figure 
to  sing  three  performances  of  the  new  opera  in  Paris, 
82 


LA  TOSCA 


MY  FOURTH    SEASON 


all  proceeds  to  go  to  charity.  Count  Camondo  paid 
all  expenses,  staged  the  opera  lavishly,  and  we  sang 
the  three  performances  to  crowded  houses,  at  the 
Theatre  Rejane,  Paris.  At  last  I  had  sung  in  grand 
opera  in  Paris,  even  if  only  for  charity! 


CHAPTER  XI 

LEAVING  BERLIN 

AFTER  a  short  season  in  Stockholm,  where  once 
more  I  had  the  pleasure  of  singing  before  dear  old 
King  Oscar,  I  found  myself  in  Berlin.  One  morn 
ing  my  maid  brought  me  this  telephone  message: — 

Heinrich  Conned  of  New  York  is  at  the  Hotel 
Bristol.  Will  Miss  Farrar  please  come  down  and 
sing  for  him? 

I  promptly  had  the  maid  telephone  carefully  as 
follows:  — 

Miss  Farrar  is  at  her  home,  and,  if  Herr  Conried 
wishes  to  call,  she  will  be  glad  to  see  him. 

Later  that  same  day  Herr  Conried  called.  He 
was  scouting  Europe  for  artists  for  the  Metropoli 
tan,  and  he  had  been  advised  by  Maurice  Grau  to 
keep  a  watchful  eye  upon  my  career. 

We  talked  of  his  plans  for  New  York,  and  Herr 
Conried  expressed  a  wish  to  have  me  return  to  my 
native  land.  Of  course,  from  the  day  I  had  first 
dreamed  of  singing  in  grand  opera,  the  Metropoli 
tan  had  been  my  ultimate  goal,  but  now  that  the 
84 


WOLF  FERRARI 


LEAVING    BERLIN 


moment  for  considering  so  important  a  step  had 
come  I  was  very  wary.  Knowing  that  New  York 
was  loyal  to  some  of  the  older  artists  still  under 
contract,  I  wanted  to  protect  my  interests  as  best 
I  could  while  working  up  my  career  in  America. 
I  do  not  believe  that  Mr.  Conried  was  then  very 
anxious  to  have  me  come;  certainly  he  was  much 
taken  aback  when  I  stated  my  ideas  of  the  contract. 
They  were  so  entirely  at  divergence  with  his  that 
the  interview  came  to  nothing,  and  he  departed. 
I  was  neither  glad  nor  sorry.  I  telegraphed  Maurice 
Grau  the  result,  to  which  he  laconically  replied:  — 

Don't  worry,  he'll  be  back. 

Having  been  many  years  in  that  same  position, 
vis-a-vis  prima  donnas,  Maurice  Grau  well  knew 
whereof  he  spoke,  for  indeed  Mr.  Conried  did 
"come  back,"  finding  me  on  my  vacation  in  Franz- 
ensbad,  where  I  had  been  very  busily  concerned 
looking  up  all  manner  of  contracts  for  America. 
After  much  obstinacy  on  my  part  and  reiteration  on 
his,  we  managed  to  close  the  contract.  Besides  my 
guaranteed  operatic  performances  I  was  to  sing  in 
no  private  houses  unless  agreeable  to  me  and  only 
for  special  compensation;  and  I  incorporated  every 
possible  clause  imaginable  about  dressing-rooms, 

85 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


drawing-rooms  on  trains,  carriages,  railroad  fares 
for  my  mother  and  my  maids  on  tour,  and  in  fact 
every  conceivable  concession  which  the  most 
arrogant  prima  donna  might  demand.  Not  that 
I  really  cared  about  such  items  of  expense,  but  I 
was  determined  to  enter  the  Metropolitan  en  dignite, 
and  I  did. 

The  contract  was  not  to  take  effect  until  a  year 
later,  in  November,  1906.  Meanwhile,  I  was  to 
conclude  another  season  in  Berlin,  fulfill  all  Euro 
pean  contracts  in  the  spring,  and  then  secure  leave 
of  absence  from  the  Kaiser  for  three  years.  It  was 
arranged,  however,  that  I  should  always  be  subject 
to  the  demands  of  the  Royal  Opera,  and  one  of  the 
clauses  of  the  Conried  contract  was  that,  if  at  any 
time  I  was  called  back  to  appear  in  Berlin,  my 
contract  would  be  indefinitely  postponed  until  such 
time  as  I  could  fulfill  it  without  conflicting  with  my 
Berlin  contract. 

That  concluding  season  in  Berlin  was  a  constant 
series  of  farewells.  The  news  had  been  made  public 
that  I  was  to  sing  in  America,  and  that  I  would  be 
absent  for  at  least  a  year.  One  of  the  pleasant  mem 
ories  of  that  season  is  a  farewell  concert  at  the 
Marmor  Palace  at  Potsdam  for  the  Crown  Prince 
and  Princess,  when  they  presented  to  me  a  diamond 
86 


LEAVING    BERLIN 


pendant  made  up  of  the  letters  "W-C"  interwoven 
— Wilhelm  and  Cecile.  The  Crown  Princess  Cecile, 
gracious,  charming,  young,  adored  in  Berlin  and 
throughout  Germany,  was  greatly  interested  in 
charities,  and  during  my  last  season  in  Berlin  I  as 
sisted  her  in  organizing  the  programmes  for  many 
charity  concerts. 

At  last  came  the  eventful  day  when  I  was  to 
leave  the  country  of  my  adoption  for  the  land  of 
my  nativity.  I  had  announced  an  "Abschied,"  or 
"Farewell  Concert,"  in  Philharmonic  Hall,  Berlin, 
the  first  week  in  October,  1906.  We  charged  five 
dollars  a  seat,  and  could  have  sold  the  house  twice 
over.  One  half  the  gross  receipts  went  to  a  hospital 
kitchen  founded  by  my  dear  Frau  von  Rath,  who 
had  been  so  kind  to  me;  and  the  other  half  went  to 
the  fund  of  the  Crown  Princess's  pet  charity  for 
crippled  children.  It  was  a  wonderful  and  repre 
sentative  audience,  in  which  royalty  was  conspicu 
ously  present. 

Next  day  we  drove  through  crowds  in  the  streets 
of  Berlin,  en  route  to  the  station  for  Bremerhaven, 
from  which  we  sailed  on  the  Kaiser  Wilhelm  II, 
my  mother,  father,  and  I.  Quite  a  contrast  to  our 
last  voyage  together  on  the  cattle  ship  from  Bos 
ton!  But  now  we  were  homeward  bound.  I  was 

87 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


returning  to  the  land  of  my  birth  after  an  absence 
of  nearly  seven  years,  to  sing  in  the  greatest  temple 
of  music  in  the  western  world.  It  represented  the 
near  approach  of  the  greatest  of  my  dreams. 

But,  could  I  have  foreseen  all  the  difficulties  that 
were  to  come  to  me,  I  wonder  if  I  would  have  been 
so  buoyant  and  care-free  as  the  great  ship  pounded 
her  way  westward  through  the  October  seas! 


CHAPTER  XII 

MY   FIRST   APPEARANCE   IN   NEW  YORK 

THE  air  was  crisp  and  cold  that  brilliant  November 
morning  when  the  Kaiser  Wilhelm  II  nosed  her  way 
into  New  York  Harbor.  How  proud  and  alert  I  felt 
as  I  looked  up  at  the  mass  of  towering  buildings, 
their  pinnacles  sharply  tilted  against  the  dazzling 
blue  of  the  sky.  The  harbor  swarmed  with  seagoing 
craft;  all  was  excitement  and  interest,  particularly 
so  when  the  revenue  cutter  and  the  mail  boat  were 
shortly  made  fast  alongside  the  big  liner.  The 
kindly  purser  was  soon  pouring  hundreds  of  letters 
and  telegrams  into  my  eager  hands,  sweet  and  wel 
coming  messages  —  happy  augury!  All  the  world 
seemed  to  smile  on  me  that  day.  Not  even  the  per 
sistent  reporters  could  curb  my  enthusiasm  or  spoil 
my  high  spirits.  How  we  laughed  and  chatted,  Mr. 
Conried  an  amused  spectator  at  my  side. 

An  avalanche  of  questions,  almost  all  pointedly 
personal,  were  hurled  at  me,  everybody  talking  at 
once.  The  role  of  the  modest  violet  was  not  to  be 
mine,  I  could  see  from  the  outset. .  .  .  Yes,  I  loved 
Berlin.  . . .  Yes,  I  had  sung  for  the  Emperor. . . . 

89 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


Yes,  the  Crown  Prince  and  the  Crown  Princess  were 
a  charming  couple.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  hoped  to  duplicate 
my  European  successes  in  my  own  country.  . .  . 
No,  I  was  not  engaged.  .  .  .  Nor  secretly  married. 
.  . .  Why?  .  .  .  Well,  because  I  just  was  n't.  And 
so  on  —  endlessly,  it  seemed.  Pencils  scribbled  un 
ceasingly  and  cameras  clicked  at  all  possible  angles. 
I  did  not  care  for  that,  since  I  wore  a  most  fetch 
ing  little  turban  and  some  beautiful  furs  (the  pic 
tures  would  n't  be  unattractive).  I  was  hardly 
settled  at  my  hotel  when  the  editions  of  the  papers 
were  being  sold,  and  their  readers  learned  from  the 
notices,  profusely  illustrated  (the  turban  really  did 
come  out  well!),  that  "Geraldine  Farrar  had  ar 
rived." 

Dazed  and  tired  by  the  excitement  of  arrival 
and  the  thousand-and-one  greetings  of  welcoming 
friends,  I  could  think  of  but  one  thing,  my  debut. 
It  pursued  me  by  day  and  haunted  my  sleepless 
nights.  No  one  can  imagine  what  anguish  I  en 
dured  once  I  was  alone,  and  how  difficult  it  was  to 
discuss  the  event  with  an  airy  indifference  to  out 
siders.  I  told  myself  there  was  nothing  to  fear; 
that  my  home  people  would  love  and  support  me  as 
had  my  loyal  Berliners.  If  only  the  trying  ordeal 
were  over! 
90 


FIRST    APPEARANCE    IN    NEW    YORK 

To  my  disappointment  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  had 
been  chosen,  not  only  for  my  debut,  but  for  the 
opening  performance  of  the  season  as  well.  In  vain 
I  pleaded  that,  under  such  a  strain  I  should  acquit 
myself  much  better  in  Elizabeth  ("Tannhauser"), 
which  I  had  just  sung  in  Berlin  and  Munich  with 
great  success.  Mr.  Conried  was  obdurate,  however; 
he  said  I  must  be  presented  in  a  spectacular  pro 
duction,  and  so  I  had  to  give  in. 

I  shall  always  remember  my  first  rehearsal  in  the 
dimly-lighted  ladies'  parlor.  The  suave  and  elegant 
Pol  Plangon  (the  Friar)  and  my  friend,  Josephine 
Jacoby,  greeted  me,  and  then  Rousseliere,  of  Monte 
Carlo  days,  who  was  making  his  debut  as  well,  as 
my  "Romeo."  We  were  both  frightfully  nervous 
and  longed  for  the  day  to  be  over. 

November  26,  1906,  however,  did  finally  arrive. 
I  drove  to  the  opera  and  slipped  into  my  gown — 
not  the  usual  conventional  robe  of  stiff  white  satin, 
but  a  heavenly  concoction  that  my  clever  wiz 
ard  of  a  dressmaker  had  faithfully  and  beautifully 
modeled  after  a  Botticelli  painting.  A  misty  veiling 
of  rose  delicately  traced  with  silken  flowers  and 
sprinkled  with  tiny  diamonds  sheathed  my  figure 
of  fortunate  slenderness  (thanks  be!),  while  a  jew 
eled  fillet  of  gold  rested  on  my  own  dark  hair,  and  a 

91 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


tiny  curling  feather  waved  alertly  on  my  forehead. 
And  so  "La  Bella  Simonetta"  came  to  life,  along 
the  Capulet  halls,  transported  for  the  nonce  to  the 
twentieth  century  and  Broadway.  A  rain  of  wel 
coming  applause  greeted  me  and  told  me  that  so 
far  all  was  well! 

I  cannot  remember  distinctly  all  that  occurred 
that  auspicious  evening.  There  seemed  to  be  cart 
loads  of  flowers;  and  again  and  again  I  smiled  out 
from  the  great  yellow  curtains.  Mr.  Conried  con 
gratulated  me,  and  the  great  evening  was  over! 

I  was  at  home. 

Now  I  was  to  drag  out  some  uninspiring  weeks  in 
such  operas  as  "La  Damnation  de  Faust,"  "Faust," 
and  "Juliette,"  all  of  no  particular  interest  to 
me. 

The  real  bright  spot  in  the  season  was  the  first 
production  of  "Madame  Butterfly"  on  the  llth 
of  February,  1907.  This  charming  opera  was  to 
endear  me  later  to  all  my  audiences  and  firmly 
establish  me  in  the  favor  of  the  whole  country. 
However,  at  the  time  no  such  encouraging  and 
pleasing  vision  was  vouchsafed  me. 

I  slaved  with  ardor  and  enthusiasm,  studying 
Oriental  characteristics  and  gestures  with  a  clever 
little  Japanese  actress,  Fu-ji-Ko,  and  incorporat- 
92 


ADORABLE,   UNFORGETTABLE  BLOSSOM  OF  JAPAN 


FIRST    APPEARANCE    IN    NEW    YORK 

ing  as  much  as  was  possible  of  her  counsels  in  my 
portrayal  of  the  hapless  "  Cio-cio-San."  Maestros 
came  and  went,  as  did  Mr.  Ricordi,  the  publisher, 
and  Mr.  Puccini.  Everybody  had  a  hand  in  the  pie, 
till  I  was  nearly  out  of  my  mind  with  all  the  many 
advisers.  But  I  left  nothing  undone  (that  I  could 
imagine!)  to  make  my  role  as  perfect  as  possible. 
Caruso  and  Scotti  had  already  shared  with  Destinn 
the  success  of  the  London  production,  so  it  remained 
for  Louise  Homer  and  myself  to  make  the  most  of 
that  charming  second  act,  which  is  so  poignant  a 
scene  between  the  two  women. 

"Madame  Butterfly"  was  a  triumph  for  us  all, 
and  for  me  in  particular.  There  were  flowers,  laurel 
wreaths  (one  with  a  darling  little  flag  of  Nippon 
tucked  away  in  the  green  leaves),  thanks  from  au 
thor,  directors,  and  so  on,  embraces,  applause, 
excitement  —  all  the  usual  hubbub  of  a  successful 
premiere. 

Somehow  I  got  home  and  sobbed  myself  to  sleep 
on  my  mother's  shoulder,  utterly  worn  out  by  the 
nervous  strain  and  cruel  fatigue  of  the  previous 
weeks. 

Ah!  Adorable,  unforgettable  blossom  of  Japan! 
Thanks  to  your  gentle  ways,  that  night  I  placed  my 
foot  on  the  rung  of  the  ladder  that  leads  to  the  firma- 

93 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


ment  of  stars!  When  I  don  your  silken  draperies 
and  voice  your  sweet  faith  in  the  haunting  melodies 
that  envelop  you,  then  are  all  eyes  dim  and  hearts 
atune  to  your  every  appeal  for  sympathy! 

"Butterfly"  brought  me  in  touch  as  well  with 
that  past  master  of  stagecraft,  David  Belasco.  To 
my  great  delight  he  was  enthusiastic  over  my  por 
trayal  of  this  little  heroine  who  was  the  child  of  his 
heart  and  brain  in  the  drama. 

I  may  own  that  every  time  we  meet  and  he  says, 
half  laughingly,  half  quizzically,  "Well,  when  are 
you  going  to  forsake  opera  and  come  into  the 
drama?"  I  am  almost  tempted  to  make  an  experi 
ment  of  such  interest,  for  the  theater  has  always 
made  a  strong  appeal  to  my  dramatic  instincts. 

Who  knows?  Some  day  may  see  me  a  candidate 
for  such  honors  if  I  take  his  invitation  seriously! 

Meanwhile,  I  was  wondering  just  how  my  artistic 
status  was  going  to  grow  under  conditions  prevail 
ing  in  our  opera  house.  My  repertoire  was  exten 
sive  in  my  contract,  but  limited  on  the  actual  bill 
boards,  owing  to  a  predominance  of  prima  donnas. 
Patience,  with  a  big  P,  did  not  seem  to  help  my 
ambitions  much. 

Finally  the  company  went  on  the  annual  spring 
tour,  and  I  have  a  confused  remembrance  of  much 
94 


BELASCO,   "THAT  PAST  MASTER  OF   STAGECRAFT" 


FIRST    APPEARANCE    IN    NEW    YORK 

traveling,  new  audiences  and  hard  work.  I  loved 
Chicago  from  the  first,  and  its  enthusiastic  support 
is  always  reliable,  whether  I  visit  there  in  opera  or 
in  concert. 

During  the  winter  Gailhard  had  negotiated  and 
secured  my  services  for  a  special  spring  season,  so 
that  after  the  Metropolitan  season  I  was  to  realize 
another  cherished  ambition  and  appear  in  the  regu 
lar  repertoire  of  the  Paris  Opera. 

With  these  plans  for  the  spring,  Berlin  in  the 
autumn,  and  New  York  all  winter,  I  was  running 
perilously  near  the  danger  line  of  overwork.  My 
physician  advised  caution,  less  work  and  more  ab 
solute  rest,  not  to  take  my  career  so  strenuously, 
as  even  my  exuberant  spirits  would  not  indefinitely 
respond  to  my  madly  driven  energy. 

But  I  could  not  then  call  a  halt.  My  star  was 
waxing.  I  must  go  on.  I  would  pay  the  penalty 
later  —  and  I  did ! 

My  Paris  debut  was  effected  under  difficulties. 
The  steamer  was  delayed;  my  trunks  went  astray; 
and,  to  add  to  my  distress,  three  polite  gentlemen 
took  the  trouble  to  meet  me  at  Cherbourg,  to  tell 
me  I  had  a  day  to  arrive  in,  one  day  to  rehearse,  and 
the  third  day  in  which  to  persuade  "La  Ville  Lumi- 
ere"  of  my  artistic  worth.  But  the  occasion  was 

95 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


like  a  whip  to  a.  race-horse.  It  never  occurred  to 
me  to  refuse,  despite  my  consternation. 

Fortunately  that  shrewd  dressmaker  of  mine, 
with  admirable  foresight  (and  second-sight  as  well, 
perhaps!)  had  "completed  a  whole  'Juliet'  outfit 
for  immediate  use  —  don't  worry,"  read  the  tele 
gram.  I  could  have  hugged  her! 

I  hummed  a  few  scales  on  the  dock,  and,  with  a 
sigh  of  relief  that  all  was  in  order  (for  I  had  constant 
nightmares  that  I  should  lose  my  voice  some  day 
unexpectedly),  I  clambered  into  the  overcrowded 
express  and  slumbered  peacefully  till  our  early 
morning  arrival.  That  day  I  went  gayly  to  the  re 
hearsal,  and  the  following  evening  (not  without 
much  nervous  anguish)  was  greeted  with  the  great 
est  enthusiasm  by  a  representative  audience. 

An  interested  listener  was  Gounod's  son,  who 
afterward  paid  me  such  delicate  and  charming  com 
pliments  as  made  my  ears  burn. 

I  had  become  a  Parisian  personage,  and  I  al 
lowed  myself  to  enjoy  childishly  the  adulation  and 
pretty  attentions  that  were  showered  on  me.  My 
woman's  vanity  was  pleased  enough  at  the  lovely 
chiffons  and  bonnets  these  ingenious  people  of  the 
rue  de  la  Paix  evolved  for  my  special  pleasure. 
What  with  fashionable  soirees  at  which  I  was 
96 


FIRST    APPEARANCE    IN    NEW    YORK 

petted  and  spoiled,  and  the  parties  and  teas  where 
my  presence  seemed  to  evoke  whispers  of  admira 
tion  and  envy,  I  might  well  have  had  my  youthful 
head  turned  to  a  dizzy  angle. 

But  I  had  my  New  England  "thinking-cap" 
firmly  set  on  my  shoulders.  A  little  of  this  charm 
ing  frivolity  was  enough,  and  one  fine  day  I  disap 
peared  —  back  to  the  simple  life  of  study  and  quiet 
with  the  great  Lehmann;  I  shed  the  iridescence  of 
my  butterfly  wings  and  became,  for  the  nonce,  a 
hard-working  grub ! 

My  stay  in  Paris  was  memorable  to  me  as  well  by 
reason  of  the  meeting  with  Sarah  Bernhardt. 

My  admiration  for  this  wonderful  woman  had 
ever  been  of  the  most  fervent  heroine  worship,  and 
when  Madame  Grau  said:  "Sarah  wants  to  know 
you;  when  will  you  lunch  with  her?"  I  set  the  fol 
lowing  day,  for  fear  she  might  change  her  mind  and 
I  might  thereby  lose  this  privilege. 

I  see  her  still,  standing  slim  and  white  in  her  long 
curling  draperies  at  the  entrance  to  her  home,  her 
keen  eyes  appraising  me,  her  voice  raised  in  cordial 
greeting.  How  we  chattered !  What  things  she  had 
to  say,  and  with  what  joy  I  listened! 

She  knew  all  about  "Juliet"  —  much  to  my  sur 
prise  —  even  to  details,  such  as  dress,  innovations 

97 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


in  mise-en-scene,  and  how  I  tried  to  infuse  the  mod 
ern  dramatic  spirit  into  the  measures  of  the  opera. 
Then  the  conversation  wandered  to  personalities; 
among  the  most  cherished,  our  mutual  great 
hearted  friend  Coquelin,  now,  alas!  gone  to  his  last 
sleep  these  many  years;  books,  and  her  obstreper 
ous  dogs,  most  conspicuous  by  their  noisy  presence. 
I  was  to  enjoy  her  friendship  from  that  day  on. 
As  I  write,  a  recent  photograph  stands  before  me, 
bearing  a  tender  inscription.  A  smile  plays  upon 
her  face,  despite  her  recent  tragic  affliction.  She  is 
in  truth  an  element,  ageless,  fearless,  dauntless! 

It  was  good  to  be  back  for  a  short  season  in  the 
autumn  in  Berlin,  previous  to  my  second  departure 
for  New  York.  The  demonstration  of  the  loyal 
Berliners  at  my  return  was  beautiful,  despite  suc 
cesses  elsewhere.  I  was  always  to  them  "unsere 
Farrar" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MISUNDERSTANDINGS 

MY  second  Metropolitan  season  opened  pleasantly 
with  a  neat  little  success  in  the  comparatively 
small  role  of  Marguerite  in  "Mefistofele,"  which 
was  produced  for  the  benefit  of  Chaliapine,  the 
great  Russian  basso.  Unfortunately,  owing  to  his 
dissatisfaction  and  disappointment  at  musical  mat 
ters  in  general,  nothing  would  induce  him  to  return 
to  America,  and  we  thereby  lost  an  artist  unique 
in  all  he  attempted  and  unparalleled  in  some  of  his 
typical  Russian  creations,  such  as  "Boris"  and 
"Ivan  the  Terrible." 

January,  1908,  saw  me  on  my  native  heath  in 
Boston.  I  sang  four  performances  in  six  days 
—  "Faust,"  "Madame  Butterfly,"  "Elizabeth," 
"Pagliacci"  —  and  the  reception  was  a  tornado  of 
enthusiasm,  to  which  the  historic  walls  of  the  old 
Boston  Theater  resounded.  The  conservative  Hub 
did  not  deserve  such  an  appellation  in  the  case  of 
my  welcome.  I  was  filled  with  pride  and  gratitude. 

My  own  home  town  also  wanted  to  share  in  the 
festivities;  whereupon  a  concert  was  arranged,  and 

99 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


I  returned  to  sing  in  the  brick  town  hall  that  had 
first  sheltered  my  early  efforts.  At  the  close  of  the 
programme  I  shook  hands  with  every  man,  woman, 
and  child  who  desired  a  close  scrutiny  and  personal 
greeting  —  and  you  may  be  sure  I  was  not  allowed 
to  abandon  my  place  on  the  stage  till  all  had  availed 
themselves  of  this  invitation. 

The  following  morning  the  Mayor  and  several 
prominent  townspeople  called  for  me,  and  we  vis 
ited  the  pupils  of  my  former  schools.  They  were 
all  ready,  in  line,  to  greet  me,  flags  in  their  hands. 

When  an  address  was  suggested,  I  arose  with 
alacrity  —  and  introduced  my  friend  Kate  Doug 
las  Wiggin,  as  speaker.  Despite  her  surprise  she 
rose  gracefully  to  the  occasion  in  a  most  flattering 
little  speech,  to  the  delight  of  her  youthful  hearers. 
I  was,  indeed,  most  fortunate  to  have  had  a  Mis 
tress  of  Ceremonies  of  such  tact  and  charm. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Conried's  failing  health  was 
necessitating  a  change  of  management  at  the 
Metropolitan,  and  the  choice  fell  upon  Mr.  Gatti- 
Casazza,  of  La  Scala,  Milan,  in  conjunction  with 
Andreas  Dippel,  the  latter  a  member  of  our  com 
pany  and  very  popular  with  New  York  audiences. 
With  contracts  for  Berlin,  Paris,  and  New  York, 
the  old  cry  of  "overwork"  was  dinned  into  my 

100 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS 


ears,  but  less  than  ever  was  the  moment  for  im 
mediate  rest  possible.  I  was  about  to  make  a  new 
contract  with  the  Metropolitan  under  a  different 
management,  new  artists  were  engaged  who  might 
reasonably  be  supposed  to  share  some  of  the  reper 
toire  which  I  had  not  yet  sung. 

It  behooved  me  to  keep  well  within  the  public  eye 
and  to  make  my  position  as  advantageous  as  I 
could  under  the  new  regime. 

Not  having  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Gatti-Ca- 
sazza,  I  preferred  signing  my  engagement  with  Mr. 
Dippel;  but  all  our  arguments  came  to  naught 
when  he  found  I  was  firm  in  my  proposals  to  improve 
upon  the  old  contract,  and  I  sailed  away  in  May 
with  no  more  definite  answer  than  "Au  revoir 
in  Paris"  to  him. 

While  singing  there  at  the  Opera  Comique,  we 
again  went  over  the  same  ground  —  futilely;  and 
it  was  not  till  the  following  July  in  Berlin  that  I 
was  able  to  arrange  a  several  years'  engagement 
which,  in  the  light  of  the  last  years,  I  may  reason 
ably  conclude  has  been  to  nobody's  dissatisfaction. 

My  third  Metropolitan  season  started  unhappily. 
I  arrived  ill  and  fagged;  lamentable  altercations 
took  place  between  the  new  conductor,  Mr.  Tos- 
canini,  and  myself,  each  having  quite  opposite  ideas 

101 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


as  to  the  merits  of  conductor  and  prima  donna, 
respectively.  The  estrangement  was  complete  after 
the  opening  performance  of  "Madame  Butterfly," 
when  we  both  lost  our  manners  and  our  tempers 
in  high-handed  fashion. 

Outside  influences  fanned  resentment  to  a  white 
heat,  at  least  on  my  part;  I  was  in  a  fury.  The 
papers  gave  space  to  stupid  fabrications  and  stories 
purporting  to  emanate  from  those  speaking  with 
authority,  whose  names,  however,  one  could  never 
discover. 

Ill  in  mind  and  health,  I  was  vexed  enough  to 
offer  to  buy  my  release  from  such  bondage  as  I  now 
lived  in  artistically.  I  was  far  from  happy,  and  when 
I  am  not  happy  I  cannot  sing  well.  My  one  idea 
was  to  escape  from  all  this  turbulence  and  what 
seemed  to  me  to  be  a  hotbed  of  intrigue.  I  was  a 
rebel,  yes;  but  I  was  no  dissembler,  and  I  hated  to 
come  into  contact  with  those  in  authority  under 
present  conditions.  Every  performance  was  an 
occasion  of  dread;  things  looked  very  dark  for  my 
peace  of  mind. 

Needless  to  say,  I  was  not  granted  a  release,  but 
must  struggle  on  during  the  closing  weeks  of  the 
spring.  I  resigned  myself  to  finish  the  season  as 
best  I  could,  but  I  was  quite  decided  that  when 

IO2 


THE  GOOSE  GIRL  IN  "  KONIGSKINDER" 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS 


the  roll  call  came  the  following  autumn  I  would 
spend  my  winter  quietly  in  Berlin.  That  was  all 
to  be  changed,  however,  by  the  very  unexpected 
and  friendly  overtures  which  Mr.  Toscanini,  to  my 
great  surprise,  made  one  memorable  evening  of 
"  Madame  Butterfly  "  in  Chicago. 

When  two  ardent  and  honest  workers  are  de 
sirous  of  eliminating  misunderstandings  it  is  not 
difficult  to  arrive  at  a  solution.  The  various  phases 
of  the  seething  disquiet  that  had  prevailed  between 
us  were  discussed  with  commendable  frankness 
on  both  sides.  I  need  not  add  that  the  result  was  a 
happy  one,  and  I  thereby  gained  a  firm  friend  and 
an  invaluable  ally  in  my  work. 

We  sealed  our  differences  in  a  joint  curtain  call, 
that  same  evening,  before  a  jammed  house  that  was 
fully  aware  of  the  significance  of  our  unusual  ap 
pearance  together,  and  gave  way  to  tumultuous 
and  approving  applause. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  estimate  justly  the  influ 
ence  Mr.  Toscanini  has  had  in  the  musical  develop 
ment  of  our  opera,  the  artistic  direction  of  which 
he  rightly  controls.  Personally  I  am,  as  in  the 
case  of  Lilli  Lehmann,  far  more  indebted  to  him 
than  I  can  properly  place  in  words,  certainly 
more  than  he,  with  a  morbid  dislike  for  any  public 

io3 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


attention  to  himself,  would  perhaps  allow  me  to 
admit. 

Lehmann  —  Bernhardt  —  Toscanini !  These  are 
names  to  conjure  with  in  the  career  of  a  young 
artist! 

Events  in  the  operatic  aviary  were  now  destined 
to  proceed  more  or  less  smoothly  for  me  —  for  a 
while  at  least.  In  the  spring  of  1909  I  was  urged  to 
give  some  special  performances  of  "La  Tosca"  at 
the  Opera  Comique  in  Paris,  with  Antonio  Scotti 
in  his  admirable  characterization  of  Scarpia.  The 
success  of  the  opera  was  most  gratifying,  and  was 
in  no  wise  overshadowed  by  the  presence  of  the 
Metropolitan  Company,  which  had  come  from  the 
United  States  to  sing  in  Paris  at  the  same  time. 

That  same  spring,  before  sailing,  Toscanini  had 
asked  me  to  sing  Puccini's  "Manon"  with  the 
Metropolitan  Company  during  its  Paris  season. 
But  the  role  was  unfamiliar  to  me,  and  as  I  had 
monopolized  the  more  popular  Massenet's  "Ma 
non,"  I  felt  I  could  not  undertake  its  preparation 
in  six  days  of  ocean  travel,  together  with  my  prom 
ised  performances  of  Tosca  at  another  theater. 
Toscanini  quite  understood  this,  made  no  further 
insistence,  and  the  charming  Lucretia  Bori  was 
io4 


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a  tu»       t. 


KATE  DOUGLAS   WIGGIN 


%o&    /fa^+tcL.,     -tr*t    y~\    £*->£ 


'<*?' 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS 


introduced  to  the  Parisian  public  and  later  came  to 
delight  her  New  York  admirers. 

What  transpired  to  offend  Puccini  I  never  knew, 
but  the  trivial  question  of  my  not  singing  his 
"Manon"  provoked  our  first  argument  relative 
to  "The  Girl  of  the  Golden  West."  The  production 
of  this  long-awaited  opera  from  the  popular  com 
poser  was  the  one  topic  of  discussion  and  specula 
tion  in  musical  circles,  its  premiere  being  scheduled 
for  the  following  autumn  in  New  York. 

While  I  had  never  had  the  promise  of  the  role,  the 
very  subject  and  its  appeal  to  the  American  public 
would  seem  to  have  indicated  the  choice  of  a  native 
prima  donna.  Not  only  I,  but  a  large  majority  of 
an  interested  public  expected  it.  However,  Puc 
cini  himself  dispelled  any  such  illusion  by  opening 
an  argument,  while  I  was  singing  in  a  drawing- 
room,  to  the  effect  that  I  had  refused  to  sing  his 
"Manon"  because  I  had  not  been  asked  to  create 
"The  Girl."  This  was  really  a  little  too  much,  and 
I  retorted  that  such  was  not  the  case,  but  that  it 
might  be  well  for  him  to  consider  the  eventual  popu 
larity  of  his  work  with  an  American  singer  as  the 
heroine,  and  that  I  was  not  aware  he  had  changed 
his  usual  suave  style  of  composition  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  most  popular  "Madame  Butterfly" 

106 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


could  not  cope  with  its  difficulties.  With  this  I 
sailed  out  of  the  room. 

Possibly  the  crowded  aspect  of  the  house  at  some 
performances  at  which  I  sang  the  following  au 
tumn,  and  which  he  attended,  modified  his  opinion, 
for  he  was  effusive  in  compliments  and  photo 
graphs,  and  the  slight  cloud  blew  over  without 
further  parley. 

Afterward  I  was  to  be  consoled  by  as  gratifying 
a  success  as  my  heart  could  wish  as  the  "Goose 
Girl."  December  28,  1910,  saw  the  premiere  of 
the  charming  "Konigskinder,"  which  enchanted  the 
audience  by  reason  of  its  lovely  simplicity  and  the 
introduction  of  live  geese  —  no  less! 

Professor  Humperdinck  was  not  a  little  taken 
aback  when  I  first  mentioned  that  I  intended  hav 
ing  these  live  geese  which  were,  according  to  my 
plan,  to  move  naturally  and  unconfmed  about  the 
stage.  Mr.  Hertz,  the  conductor,  was  much  per 
turbed  and  objected  to  the  noise  and  confusion 
they  might  create;  but  Mr.  Gatti  was  resigned  to 
my  whim  and  gave  assent.  So  with  the  help  of  our 
technical  director  and  the  "boys"  behind  the  stage 
I  had  as  pretty  a  flock  of  birds  as  one  could  find  on 
any  farm.  When  the  curtain  rose  upon  that  idyllic 
forest  scene,  with  the  goose  girl  in  the  grass,  the 
106 


MISS  FARRAR  AND  CARUSO  IN  "JULIAN" 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS 


geese  unconcernedly  picking  their  way  about,  now 
and  again  spreading  snowy  wings,  unafraid,  the 
house  was  simply  delighted  and  applauded  long  and 
vigorously.  Not  to  be  overlooked  was  the  sympa 
thetic  appeal  of  the  children's  beloved  Fiddler,  in 
the  person  of  Goritz.  This  operatic  fairy-tale  held 
an  enviable  place  in  the  regular  repertoire  for  three 
years,  and  was  one  of  my  happiest  successes. 

Following  this  I  was  to  create  a  work  of  a  type 
quite  different  from  any  other  I  had  ever  essayed. 
Had  it  not  been  for  Toscanini's  urging  I  should 
hardly  have  chosen  "Ariane  et  Barbe  Bleue"  as  a 
medium  for  my  ambitions.  While  the  production 
was  highly  interesting,  I  cannot  say  that  I  am 
much  in  sympathy  with  the  vague  outlines  of  the 
modern  French  lyric  heroines;  "Melisande"  and 
"Ariane"  I  think  can  be  better  entrusted  to  artists 
of  a  less  positive  type. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  DAYS   I  NOW  ENJOY 

THE  season  of  1913-14  came  very  near  proving  dis 
astrous  for  me.  After  repeated  danger  signals,  at 
last  overtaxed  Nature  took  her  revenge.  I  was  un 
able  to  cope  successfully  with  a  bad  attack  of  bron 
chitis,  which  made  me  lose  the  opening  night.  Some 
days  afterward,  still  ill,  I  was  obstinate  enough  to 
insist  on  a  "Madame  Butterfly"  performance,  and 
I  collapsed  completely  in  a  "Faust"  performance 
later  that  same  week. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  state  of  mind.  Despair 
overcame  me.  The  awful  nightmare  had  come  to 
pass.  I  should  probably  never  sing  again!  Then 
there  flashed  through  my  mind:  How  should  I 
endure  this  enforced  inactivity?  Daily,  hourly,  I 
waited,  and  watched,  and  coaxed  a  betterment  of 
my  physical  condition,  which,  after  all,  was  at  the 
bottom  of  my  minor  vocal  troubles.  Outside,  a 
generous  and  affectionate  public  had  not  forgotten 
me,  while  Mr.  Gatti  was  most  kind  and  patient 
with  this  fretful  songbird. 

One  day  I  judged  myself  at  last  ready  to  venture 
108 


CARMEN" 


THE    DAYS    I    NOW    ENJOY 

a  performance.  Upon  my  appearance  I  was  greeted 
with  such  welcoming  applause  as  threatened  to  in 
terfere  with  my  continuance  of  the  opera.  My  heart 
was  full  of  gratitude  as  I  bowed  and  bowed  my 
thanks.  By  dint  of  care  and  caution  I  was  able  to 
finish  the  season  with  credit,  even  taking  the  fati 
guing  trip  to  Atlanta,  Georgia,  prior  to  sailing,  in 
order  not  to  disappoint  that  loyal  and  enthusiastic 
public.  That  year,  too,  was  the  American  premiere 
of  the  long-awaited  sequel  to  "Louise  "  —  "Julian," 
a  hodge-podge  of  operatic  efforts  that  brought  little 
satisfaction  to  anybody  concerned  in  it.  To  my 
surprise  the  repellent  characterization  of  the  gutter- 
girl  in  its  last  act  moved  some  critical  craniums  to 
speculate  favorably  on  the  ultimate  success  of 
"Carmen,"  should  I  ever  attempt  this  role. 

My  summer  was  a  long  one  of  quiet  and  absolute 
rest.  When  I  was  ready  to  sail  home  Europe  was 
beginning  to  seethe  in  her  terrible  conflict.  I  raced 
from  Munich  to  Amsterdam  to  get  an  available 
neutral  steamer;  but  the  prevailing  confusion  and 
panic  occasioned  by  the  fall  of  Antwerp  and  mine 
disasters  in  the  northern  waters  made  it  advisable 
for  me  to  follow  Mr.  Gatti's  insistent  message  to 
join  him  and  the  company  immediately  at  Naples. 

Ah,  that  journey  to  the  end  of  Italy!  Shall  I  ever 

109 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


forget  it?  Fortunately,  Mr.  Gatti  had  been  able  to 
assemble  all  his  songsters  —  with  the  exception  of 
Gilly,  our  French  barytone,  a  prisoner  of  war  in 
Austria  —  and  we  were  to  enjoy  an  agreeable  and 
uneventful  ocean  trip  home. 

It  was  while  on  shipboard,  discussing  the  reper 
toire,  that  Toscanini  suggested  the  immediate 
preparation  of  "Carmen"  for  my  first  appearance 
of  the  season.  I  jumped  at  the  idea,  the  more  so 
since  I  should  have  a  role  I  had  always  longed  to 
sing  and  which  favored  me  as  I  had  rarely  been 
favored.  Here  was  indeed  an  occasion  to  refute 
many  an  unkind  rumor  that  I  had  lost  my  voice 
and  would  never  sing  again.  And  as  for  the  acting, 
and  looking  —  well,  I  smiled  into  the  miserable 
little  glass  in  my  stateroom  that  did  duty  as  a 
mirror,  and  blew  myself  a  kiss  of  congratulation! 
Daily  rehearsals  were  called,  and  I  worked  like  a 
slave  in  the  little  stuffy  dining-room  of  the  ship  to 
the  accompaniment  of  a  piano  no  better  than  it 
should  be. 

Many  a  gypsy  had  come  and  gone,  leaving  New 
York  mildly  indifferent.  There  had  been  but  one 
fascinating,  unforgettable  creature  within  our 
memory,  the  incomparable  Calve!  Not  one  leaf 
of  her  coronet  of  laurel  had  so  much  as  quivered ! 
no 


WORK  AND  PLAY  IN  CALIFORNIA 


THE    DAYS    I    NOW    ENJOY 

The  eventful  evening  came  at  last,  and  I  need  not 
dwell  upon  the  wonderful  success  that  attended 
the  brilliant  revival  of  this  well-loved  opera  under 
Toscanini's  splendid  direction. 

Later  in  the  same  season  was  to  come  the  amus 
ing  "Madame  Sans  Gene,"  chiefly  interesting  for 
its  novelty  and  touches  of  comedy. 

Added  to  the  fortunate  operatic  successes,  I  had 
made  several  concert  tournees,  my  contract  with  the 
record-makers  had  been  rigidly  kept,  and  to  suc 
ceed  in  all  these  artistic  directions,  the  well-being 
of  the  voice  had  ever  primarily  to  be  considered. 

When  the  fateful  time  came  that  I  paid  the  toll 
of  overwork  and  my  throat  was  temporarily  crip 
pled,  my  mind  was  doubly  alive  and  in  acute  an 
guish.  Inactivity  to  me  has  always  been  something 
not  to  be  borne.  I  must  have  a  vital  interest  with 
which  to  stimulate  my  energies  and  fancies. 

It  was  during  those  discouraging  days  that  I  be 
thought  me  of  the  very  ardent  advances  that  had 
been  made  to  me  relative  to  the  moving  pictures. 
Perhaps  there  was  another  field  of  expression,  not 
to  mention  the  very  flattering  financial  considera 
tions  that  were  to  accompany  the  offer,  did  I  allow 
myself  to  be  persuaded. 

No  small  amount  of  half-hearted  condemnation 

in 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


and  significant  shoulder  shrugging  accompanied 
the  announcement  that  I  might  seriously  consider 
such  a  proposal. 

"Oh,  Geraldine!  How  can  you?"  I  heard  on 
every  hand. 

But  why  should  n't  I?  I  have  never  been  the 
overcautious  prima  donna,  swathed  in  cotton,  si 
lent,  save  for  singing,  for  fear  of  undue  fatigue  upon 
the  voice — the  human  vocalizer!  No.  I  like  the 
novel  and  the  unusual  always,  and  I  adore  to  act! 

My  friendship  with  the  family  of  David  Belasco, 
and  his  son-in-law,  Mr.  Gest,  having  large  interests 
in  the  moving  pictures,  led  me  finally  to  accede  to 
their  request;  and  I  signed  a  contract  which  prom 
ised  to  be  (and  fulfilled  happily!)  as  successful  a 
venture  as  any  I  have  ever  undertaken. 

My  arrival  in  Los  Angeles,  the  beautifully  ap 
pointed  house  there,  the  special  studio  built  for  my 
privacy  and  convenience  are  of  too  recent  an  in 
terest  to  reiterate  here.  The  experience  itself  was 
novel  and  refreshing,  with  its  own  unusual  dramatic 
procedure.  I  sang  and  declaimed  my  role  in  French 
or  Italian  as  I  chose.  There  was  no  curtain  to  go  up ! 
The  director-general  replaced  the  harassed  stage 
manager  and  gave  the  signal:  "Camera!  Go!"  No 
fiery  leader  overwhelmed  me  with  the  feverish 

112 


THE    DAYS    I    NOW    ENJOY 

tempest  of  his  orchestra;  just  a  watchful  operator 
warily  turning  the  crank  of  his  machine  while  I 
evolved  my  "scenes"  as  I  wished. 

My  "Carmen"  has  made  her  screen  debut,  and 
many  of  you  have  doubtless  seen  it.  I  have  been 
delighted  at  its  success,  and  feel  that  its  artistic 
excellence  and  the  enthusiastic  approbation  it  has 
met  speak  loudly  enough  in  favor  of  my  departure 
from  the  usual  routine  of  the  prima  donna. 

I  have  been  asked,  in  summing  up  these  experi 
ences  of  my  artistic  career,  so  far,  if  it  has  all  been 
worth  while?  From  my  point  of  view,  yes.  That  is, 
what  you  believe  to  be  the  most  complete  fulfill 
ment  of  yourself  and  the  gratification  of  your  am 
bitions  is  always  worth  while.  Fortunately  for  me 
the  adventurous  and  inquiring  turn  of  my  mind 
does  not  allow  my  ambitions  to  become  narrowed 
or  stationary,  and  that  may  possibly  account  for 
the  unusual  phases  in  my  musical  career. 

It  is,  however,  distinctly  not  worth  while,  to  my 
mind,  unless  Fortune  smiles  upon  you  in  abundance, 
for  art  is  not  the  medium  stratum  of  life,  but  its 
flowered  inspiration  and  emotional  poetry:  it  de 
mands  and  obtains  its  sacrifices  and  sorrows  which 
modify  and  chasten  its  glory,  and  your  own  soul 
best  knows  the  toll  you  pay. 

n3 


GERALDINE    FARRAR 


Personally  I  would  not  encourage  the  graduate 
of  the  church  choir,  or  the  youthful  miss  with  the 
pretty  voice  and  smug  mind,  to  embark  upon  a 
grand-opera  career,  such  as  I  have  come  to  under 
stand  it.  By  that,  I  mean  the  exceptional  career 
that  demands  the  big  outlook  and  risk  in  all  one 
attempts  —  the  sacrifices,  the  unceasing  toil,  an 
iron  constitution,  invulnerable  nerves,  to  say  noth 
ing  of  the  financial  security  involved,  according 
to  the  magnitude  of  the  undertaking.  With  the 
many  who  earn  a  comfortable  livelihood  by  their 
agreeable  song  I  have  no  question,  being,  as  I  said 
before,  solely  concerned  with  the  exceptional  gift 
that  will  not  be  denied,  that  brushes  aside  all  ob 
stacles,  to  proceed  on  the  path  of  wide  appeal  in  any 
branch  of  art  or  occupation. 

When  intelligent  people  will  begin  to  open  their 
minds  and  refuse  to  be  cajoled  by  flattery  and  hy 
pocrisy  as  to  what  constitutes  "an  artistic  career," 
it  may  be  better  for  American  art  in  general  and 
easier  for  the  girl  who  cherishes  high  ambitions. 

How  many  aimless  letters  fill  the  musical  col 
umns  with  admirable  advice  on  a  profession  of 
which  the  writers  betray  their  naive  ignorance  by 
the  general  vacuity  of  their  remarks,  when  presum 
ing  to  measure  an  artist's  impulses  and  inspirations 


MISS  FARRAR  AND  MR.  LOU  TELLEGEN 


THE    DAYS    I    NOW    ENJOY 

by  their  own  personal  standards  and  emotions! 
Let  the  artist  develop  in  his  own  orbit,  according  to 
his  light,  nor  criticize  the  method  of  the  fruition 
of  those  gifts  he  so  generously  flings  to  his  hearers. 
And  now,  in  closing,  I  have  purposely  left  till  the 
last,  my  affectionate  tribute  of  gratitude  and  re 
membrance  toward  that  vital  factor  in  these  later 
years  of  my  career,  whose  esteem  constantly  spurs 
me  on  to  my  best  efforts  and  whose  support  I  trust 
I  may  enjoy  for  many  years  to  come:  the  discern 
ing,  generous  and  appreciative  American  public! 


NOTE  :  Soon  after  writing  the  last  pages  of  this  book  Miss 
Farrar  announced  her  engagement  to  Mr.  Lou  Tellegen,  a 
talented  young  actor  well  known  to  Americans  since  he  first 
came  here  five  or  six  years  ago  as  leading  man  with  Madame 
Sarah  Bernhardt.  The  picture  on  the  preceding  page  was 
taken  at  the  City  Hall,  New  York,  just  after  Miss  Farrar 
and  Mr.  Tellegen  had  secured  their  marriage  license.  They 
were  married  at  Miss  Farrar' s  home  February  8. 


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